


you can hear it in the silence

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Louis,” Liam says again. “Louis, wake up.”</p><p>“No,” Louis says distinctly, still buried under the duvet.</p><p>Liam's not proud of the pitch his voice reaches when he says, “Louis, mate, I'm not being funny, but did we get married last night?”</p><p>There's a beat of silence, and then Louis rolls over, one eye cracked open to peer up at Liam. He's still got some frosting from last night crusted in his lashes, and Liam barely catches himself from reaching out to scrub it away with his thumb.</p><p>(or, yet another they-woke-up-married fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can hear it in the silence

**Author's Note:**

> this trope has been done before, i know. but lilo haven't quite finished.
> 
> huge thanks to sam, leigh, and kate for the cheerleading and beta'ing - this fic would not exist without you all and i am forever in your debt. any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> title from 'you are in love' by taylor swift for obvious reasons.

Sophia's late.

She's never late, but Liam doesn't see it coming, not even when she texts him to meet her outside instead of coming into the restaurant like he expects, with a contrite smile and an apology on her lips. When he steps out the door and spots the hunch of her shoulders beneath her dark sweater, he reaches for her automatically, ready to pull her in for a hug to ward off the chill of the night.

It's not until she takes a half step back, out of reach, and tips her chin up so that her face catches the light that Liam cottons on that something's not right. Sophia's never been the type to let her makeup smudge, but there's a tell-tale black smear beneath one eye.

“Soph? What's wrong?”

She has to clear her throat before she can speak, and when the words come tripping out, Liam's sure he's misheard.

“What?”

“I'm sorry, Liam,” she says again, and there's a quiver in her voice. “But I just. I can't marry you.”

“But – you – the wedding is _tomorrow_.” The rehearsal dinner is happening now. Liam's dad and mum, both his sisters and all his best mates, they're all inside the restaurant, toasting to Liam's future with Sophia. His mum's already cried twice, she's so happy for him.

Sophia swipes at her lashes, and the black smear spreads across her cheek. “I know,” she says. “And I love you.”

Heart lodged in his throat, Liam waits for the but.

“And – and we'd be happy, probably. For awhile. But--” there it is. Sophia's voice catches. “We're apart more than we're together, and I don't think a wedding is going to change that. You're married to your job, Liam, and you make me so, so happy when you're around, but when you're not...”

She takes a deep breath. “I'm so scared that I'm going to wake up one day and regret this, and I don't want you to be something I regret.”

Liam's entire world shakes, the pavement beneath his feet lurching like a stormy sea. “So we – we can postpone the wedding, if you want. Take some time to think about it. I'll – look, I promise to make it home in time for dinner, every night, and I can sit out on some of the trips, send someone in my place, and--”

But Sophia is shaking her head, arms still crossed over her chest and eyes too bright in the glow of the streetlight. “Liam, I'm not asking you to choose between me and your job. Look, just – why did you ask me, to marry you? Tell me.”

For a second, Liam is dumbfounded. “Because I love you,” he says automatically. “Because you said something needed to change, and I thought--”

“You thought a ring would fix it,” Sophia finishes softly. Her smile is sad as she eases it off her finger, holding it pinched between her fingertips. The diamond catches in the light, winking brightly. “I probably should have said no, when you asked, but I let myself believe the same thing.”

Liam blinks furiously and the ring slides in and out of focus. It's hard to push the words out past the lump in his throat. “So this is it? You're just... ending this? Ending us?” Another thought occurs to him then, tripping past his teeth. “Is there someone else?”

Sophia's laugh is a wet, quiet thing. “You know, there were a lot of nights I wondered the same thing myself.”

When she reaches for Liam's hand, her fingers are soft and cool, but the ring is still warm from her skin as she presses it into his palm and folds his fingers around it. She has to lean onto her toes to catch the corner of Liam's mouth in a kiss, and when she pulls back, Liam has to stop himself from wiping at the black smear that's still marring her cheek.

“You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me,” she says. “And I should have done this sooner, I know. I'm sorry, Liam. I hope you can forgive me someday.”

Her shoulders stay hunched as she turns to walk away, heels clicking on the pavement. Liam clenches his hand tight enough for the hard edges of the diamond to bite into his skin, leaving behind angry red marks that take a long time to fade.

He's still rooted to the same spot when the door of the restaurant opens, spilling out happy noises that sound faraway, dream-like in quality. Then a hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“All right, mate?”

There's a laugh bubbling in Louis' throat, and Liam's feels raw when he says, “Sophia broke up with me.”

The laugh boils over, sharp and bright. “Are you havin' me on, Payno? For a second I thought you said Sophia broke it off.”

Wordlessly, Liam holds out his fist, still clenched around the ring. Louis quirks a curious brow, but gamely holds his palm open, face up. His mouth twists into a frown when Liam opens his fingers and lets the ring fall.

“Is this...?” he trails off, tilting his hand so the diamond catches the light. Seems like it shouldn't shine so bright, used as it is, but it sparkles with the cold light of a star. “Oh, fuck. _Liam_.”

Louis' always been a few inches shorter than Liam, and forever bitter about it, but when he envelopes Liam in a tight hug, he feels so much bigger, like he could actually shelter Liam in his arms, or anchor him to the shore when the tide beckons with stubborn fingers.

Ducking his head, Liam buries his face in Louis' neck, chest hitching as he tries to breathe.

“Shh, shh, you're all right, love, you're all right,” Louis croons, stroking Liam's hair back with steady hands.

“My mum,” Liam manages to gasp. “She'll be so--”

Louis tugs sharply on Liam's hair, hard enough to force him to suck in a pained breath. “Quiet now,” he orders. “I'll take care of that, all right?” Pulling away, he gently smacks Liam's cheek. “Go 'round back, and see if you can't convince someone in the kitchen to give you a bottle of expensive champagne. Give me ten, fifteen minutes tops, and I'll clear everyone out, okay?”

“Okay,” Liam repeats, and Louis has to slap him smartly on the arse before he remembers how to pick his feet up to walk. He staggers his way towards the back of the restaurant, trailing his fingers over the rough brick wall to keep his balance. By the time he reaches the back door, he still isn't ready to face people, even strangers, so he sinks down next to a dumpster, knees to his chest and face buried in his arms.

Ten, fifteen minutes later, tops, Louis bursts out the backdoor. “I give you one job, Liam, honestly,” he says, but he sounds more fond than exasperated. He reaches down to grab Liam's wrist, pulling him up forcefully. Liam stumbles to his feet, but Louis' there to steady him with a hand on his hip.

“Don't worry, I got the champagne,” he says, tugging Liam towards the door.

Liam plants his feet on the pavement, waits until Louis looks back and meets his eye. “Louis. What did my mum say?”

The light from the kitchens spills out the open door, bleaching Louis' silhouette in gold, and Liam can't make out the expression on his face when he says, “She loves you, Liam. She just wants you to be happy.”

“Well, I'm not,” Liam says stubbornly.

“That's what the champagne's for, innit?” Louis counters. This time, when he tugs on Liam's wrist, Liam follows him until they're both swallowed by the light.

-

The champagne is good. Like, really good.

“I just,” Liam hiccups. “I love her, y'know? And I thought. I thought--”

“Liam.” Louis' arm feels heavy, draped around his shoulders, and Liam lets himself settle against Louis' side. The room is spinning, a bit, but it's nice here, next to Louis. “Sophia's a lovely girl, she is. But if you need me to murder her, for hurting you...”

Choking on his champagne, Liam sits up. “What? God, no. Don't – I don't want you to murder anyone, Christ.”

Louis grins, all sharp teeth. “It's a one time offer, Payno. And you'd be responsible for my bail, just so you know.”

“What a bargain.” Liam drains the rest of his glass and reaches for the bottle.

“Whoa, hold up there, mate,” Louis says, snatching it up before Liam can grab hold. “This shit's expensive. We need to savor it.”

He proceeds to tip his head back, pouring a stream down his throat, and Liam has to bury his laugh in Louis' shoulder. “You're gonna get us kicked out!” he hisses.

Louis wipes at his mouth with the back of his wrist, catching the drops of champagne that have spilled past his lips. “Never,” he says, eyes crinkled so fiercely it's hard to tell how blue they are.

Liam keeps his face tucked against the starchy fabric of Louis' button-down, because that way he doesn't have to look at the long, empty table that the waiters have cleared of all the plate settings save for two.

“Louis,” he mumbles, mouth still pressed to Louis' shirt. “I have to – who do I call, to cancel it? We already got the cake and the flowers, and everyone is coming, and--”

“And it's taken care of, Payno. Your mum's on it, all right? She and your sisters have got a phone tree, I don't know the details, but – and listen up, because this is the important bit – we all love you, okay? You're not to worry.”

“But--”

“Anyway,” Louis continues loudly, and Liam can feel the hum of his voice vibrating through his chest. “I've ordered us dessert, haven't I?”

“Dessert?” Head swimming with champagne, Liam rolls his neck until he can catch Louis' eye.

“It's cake,” Louis says. “Just because the wedding's off doesn't mean you shouldn't get to enjoy your just desserts.”

For a moment, Liam just blinks up at Louis. “Was that a joke?”

“Thought that would have landed better,” Louis muses, and Liam doesn't get a chance to reply before a waiter appears with the cake in question. It's a big piece, dripping with frosting, and the waiter slides the single plate in front of them.

“Can I get you anything else?” he murmurs.

“This is fine, thanks,” Louis says, fork already in hand. It turns out to be a decoy, because the second the waiter turns his back, Louis' other hand darts out to scoop up a fingerful of frosting, smearing it down Liam's cheek.

“Oops,” he says, face creased in a grin.

Slowly, Liam reaches a hand up to touch his face, the frosting sticky against his fingertips. “You're a dead man, Tommo.”

They get kicked out of the restaurant not five minutes later. There's frosting crusted under Liam's fingernails and in his hair, and he should probably go back to the hotel and take a shower, maybe have a bit of a cry while he's at it. He's having a little trouble staying upright, though, and forgets to put up a fight when Louis drags them down the street towards a pub.

“We're gonna drink this city dry,” Louis says with far too much enthusiasm for someone who's got cake clumped in his eyelashes.

It's a terrible idea. The last thing Liam needs is a hangover. All he wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep for a week, but the thought of waking up alone next to cold sheets stops him in his tracks. Liam is glad, suddenly, that Sophia had wanted a beachfront wedding in Santa Barbara. It's a nice enough city, but one he's got no ties to. After this weekend, he'll have no reason to return and subject himself to painful reminders. Right now, all he wants to do is forget.

“Yeah, all right,” he agrees, brushing off a bit of frosting from cheek.

Louis pumps his fist, dragging Liam along to stumble down the pavement.

-

Liam wakes up on the day of his wedding feeling like his head's been split in two. Groaning, he flops an arm over his face, nose buried in his elbow. Sophia's snoring next to him, which is unusual, because she's even more of a morning person than Liam is.

“Babe,” Liam mumbles through a throat that's raw as sandpaper. “W'time'sit?”

The only reply is another loud snore, and reality catches up to Liam with the sharp stab of a knife between the ribs. There is no wedding today, because Sophia's left him. Her stuff is gone from their hotel suite, and who knows how empty their flat will be when Liam goes home. If Liam goes home. Maybe he'll stay right here under this duvet forever, wrapped up in sheets until he's a withered old mummy, and tourists can come gawk at what a pathetic, heart-broken loser he is.

First, though, he desperately needs some water. He and Louis might really have drank the city dry last night, if the throb in his temple is anything to go by. Liam manages to crack his eyes open, which turns out to be a terrible mistake, because his gaze immediately snags on the flash of gold circling his finger. His _ring_ finger.

The haziest snapshot of a memory comes swimming back, blurring together with too many shots of tequila and Louis' sharp laugh, of someone holding Liam's hand in a gentle grip, carefully sliding the ring onto his finger, words like _lawfully wedded_ and _for better or worse_ and _I do_ slipping past his lips. His mouth is suddenly dry.

“Louis,” he rasps, because, right, okay, that's not Sophia snoring away next to him. That's what Louis sounds like, when he's nodded off after a late night at the studio, head tipped back and mouth wide open.

Sure enough, when Liam finally tears his gaze away from the ring situation happening on his finger, he catches sight of Louis' tousled hair just visible above the duvet. The rest of him is a lump that groans pathetically when Liam prods him in the back.

“Louis,” Liam says again. “Louis, wake up.”

“No,” Louis says distinctly, still buried under the duvet.

Liam's not proud of the pitch his voice reaches when he says, “Louis, mate, I'm not being funny, but did we get married last night?”

There's a beat of silence, and then Louis rolls over, one eye cracked open to peer up at Liam. He's still got some frosting from last night crusted in his lashes, and Liam barely catches himself from reaching out to scrub it away with his thumb.

“What the fuck? Me 'ead is killing me, Liam. 'S too early for jokes.”

“I'm not – Louis, _look_.” He thrusts his left hand in Louis' face. Louis blinks sluggishly at the slim gold band around Liam's finger, the band that was supposed to tie him to a lifetime of happiness to Sophia. That band that Louis, as Liam's best man, was supposed to keep safe until the wedding.

“That's not. Don't be ridiculous, Liam. We didn't get married.” Louis pauses. “Did we?”

Every muscle in Liam's body screams in protest when he swings his legs out of bed, and he has to grab his temple for a minute until the room stops spinning before he can climb to his feet. He staggers over to the desk where his wallet and keys are in a messy pile, ignores the empty space where yesterday morning Sophia's earrings had sat. There's a manilla envelope that he doesn't recognize, a bit dented around the edges, and Liam braces a hip against the edge of the desk as he works it open.

Inside is a marriage certificate, complete with his and Louis' signatures. Unless Liam is mistaken, it's been notarized and all the blanks have been properly filled out. It looks alarmingly legitimate. The only other thing in the envelope is a blurry polaroid, Louis' face scrunched in a smile so big it swallows his eyes and Liam's mouth smushed against his cheek in a kiss. His hand is cupping Louis' face, and the ring on his finger is just visible at the edge of the photo.

“Oh, fuck,” Liam says, sagging against the desk.

“Liam? What's that?”

“I. Oh my god, Louis, I'm so sorry, but it- we -” Helplessly, Liam looks up to where Louis is still slouched in bed, hair a mess and shirt twisted up, half his collarbone on display. “We're married,” he croaks.

There's a single, horrible moment where Louis doesn't react at all, and then suddenly he's laughing, sprawling backwards on the bed. “Married!” he chokes out. “Oh, mate, that is _incredible_.”

“It. What?”

“C'mon, Liam,” Louis says, a little out of breath. “Is this not hilarious? Think about it! We got pissed last night so you could forget all about the wedding, and what do you go and do anyway? Marry the closest idiot you could find!”

“You're not an idiot,” Liam objects immediately.

Louis laughs. “I am, and I definitely got the better end of this deal. Shit, Liam, you know I'm gonna milk this for all it's worth.”

Knees unsteady, Liam takes a few wobbly steps back to the bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. “You're not – upset? About any of this?”

“Of anyone I could have woken up married to, you're like, in the top ten for sure. Maybe even top five,” Louis assures him with a wink.

That stumps Liam for a second. “You've thought about this, then?”

Louis waves a dismissive hand. “When you make the kind of reckless drunken decisions I do, Liam, you can't afford not to think about it. Anyway, it'll be a laugh, won't it? You'll get the divorce sorted for us in no time, and someday this'll just be a great story to tell at parties.”

Liam thinks on that a bit. “I thought this kind of thing only happened in Vegas,” he says truthfully, running his finger along the edge of the thick, creamy paper. His signature has some extra loops, like the pen got away from him, but it's still recognizable.

Shaking his head, Louis says, “Leave it to you, Liam, to find the one chapel in California that does drunk weddings.”

Liam tries out a smile, but it doesn't fit his face quite right. “My mum wanted the wedding to be in England, you know. She was so disappointed when I told her we were getting married over here.”

“Then I'm off to a great start as a disappointing son-in-law, aren't I?” Louis grins, pinching at Liam's side. “Stop moping, Liam. You're my husband now. I demand breakfast in bed.”

This time Liam's smile fits a little better. “I thought we were getting a divorce?”

“Well, if that's gonna be your attitude about it,” Louis complains, but he doesn't stop grinning, especially when Liam reaches for the phone to order room service.

-

It's mid afternoon before Liam finds the courage to call his mum. Louis didn't exactly know any of the details of the break up when he dismantled the wedding party, and it's harder than Liam thought it would be to explain.

“She just – she said she loves me, but the time apart with work and all, it was too much. We'd been, not, like, fighting exactly, but – things've been hard, for a while.”

“Oh, Liam. Is that why you had such a short engagement? I'd wondered, you know, when you said it was only three months. Why rush a good thing?”

Swallowing has become a tricky thing to accomplish. “Yeah, I, uh. Looking back, we probably did rush it? I just, like. I wanted to make her happy, mum. And instead I drove her away.”

“Liam. Don't you dare think that. You and that girl were crazy about each other, do you hear me? Things don't always work out, love. And that's not your fault.”

Mobile trapped between his shoulder and ear, Liam rubs at the ring on his finger, turning it over and over. He needs to tell her, he supposes, about the Louis situation, but he can't break her heart twice in two days. Maybe once they're divorced, and it's just a funny story to tell at parties.

“Yeah, suppose,” he says, not really sure if he believes her.

She must hear it in his voice, because she adds, “Listen, love, if you need me to stay with you for a bit, I can get my flight changed, make the trip down to LA--”

“No, no, that's okay, mum. Really. I have Louis, I'll be all right.”

“Okay,” she says a little suspiciously. “If you're sure. Ring me anytime, you hear?”

“Yes, I will. Look, I've got to go – take care of some things. Love you, yeah? Talk to you soon.”

“Love you too, Liam. Take care of yourself.”

He gives himself five minutes to compose himself after he disconnects the call, hands gripping the railing of the little balcony tight enough to turn his knuckles white, before he finally goes back inside. It must not work, because Louis takes one look at his face and says, “That's it. We're getting ice cream.”

“Louis--”

“Rocky road or chocolate fudge? Fuck it, it's our honeymoon. Let's get both.”

Liam chokes on nothing. “Our honeymoon?”

“Told you, didn't I, that I was gonna milk this for all it's worth?” Louis winks. “C'mon, get your shirt. I'm not walking to the shops by myself.”

“Do you think we should shower first?”

Louis' already got one arm in his sleeve, but he stops to look up at Liam, eyebrow cocked.

“Because you've still got cake on your face, I mean.”

“Oi. And when did you plan to tell me that, exactly?” Louis peers into the mirror, scrubbing at his eye. “Were you just going to let me walk around with a cake face all day? Some husband you are, Liam Payne.”

“I'm a great husband,” Liam argues, and is rewarded with a careless smile that Louis tosses over his shoulder.

“'Course you are, Payno. 'Course you are.”

-

Louis falls asleep in the passenger seat during the drive back home to LA, head tipped against the glass and snoring mouth open wide. What had seemed a logical travel arrangement for the trip up to Santa Barbara for the wedding – Sophia with her bridesmaids, and Liam with Louis, since he'd had to work late anyway – now seems like a sign that Liam should have seen this coming.

There were a lot of signs, when he thinks back on it, but none of them make the ache in his chest hurt less. He keeps a tight grip on the steering wheel the whole drive, hands at ten and two, and when the familiar LA skyline comes into view, he drives right past his exit.

“Louis,” he says. In the passenger seat, Louis stirs a little, yawning into his hand. “Louis, I can't do it. I can't go home. What if her things are still there? Louis, what if her things are _gone_?”

“Those would be the two options, yeah,” Louis mumbles, still half asleep.

“ _Louis_.” The ache in his chest twists into something sharp, and it's like his lungs can't get enough air.

“Sorry, sorry! Look, just, breathe, would you? In and out, there you go. Christ, Payno, wait until we're off the freeway before you freak out like that.” Liam shoots him a wide-eyed look and something in Louis' face softens. “No, shit, I'm sorry, I get it. You'll stay at mine, yeah? Not like you haven't crashed on my couch before.”

Liam's lungs feel less like they're being crushed in a vice at Louis' words, and he remembers how to breathe. “You're sure? You wouldn't mind?”

Louis shrugs. “What mine is yours, innit? Marriage perks, I suppose.”

The sound Liam makes is a creaky sort of thing, but it could be considered a laugh. Probably. “You really aren't going to let this marriage thing go, are you?”

Reaching out a hand, Louis squeezes Liam's knee, lets his fingers cheekily slide all the way up the inside of Liam's thigh before he pulls away, grinning. “'Til death do us part. Or divorce, whatever.”

“I'll look into it first thing Monday morning,” Liam promises, and Louis' smile tightens before he turns away from Liam, watching out the window as the traffic chug by.

-

First thing Monday morning, Liam wakes up disoriented and alone with a crick in his neck, one leg dangling off the edge of the couch. It takes him a groggy moment to place where he is, and then the why comes trickling back, and then Liam is scrambling up, reaching for his running shoes. His head is a mess of emotions he'd rather not deal with right now, and the second best way to clear it is to run until all he can hear is the rush of his own pulse echoing in his ears.

Louis loaned him a pair of shorts to sleep in, so in less than thirty seconds Liam is ready and out the door, stretching in the lift on his way down to the lobby.

He starts his run at a slow pace, muscles not fully warmed up, but it's not long before he loses himself in the rhythm of it, feet pounding against the pavement and lungs burning with exertion. Louis' neighborhood is unfamiliar and he gets a little lost, so he runs further than he means to by the time he finds the building again.

By then, sweat's dripping down his face, pooling at the dip of his spine, and Liam strips his shirt over his head, chest heaving with each breath. He walks the last block, damp shirt draped over the back of his neck, and there's already a comfortable ache settling in his muscles when he stabs the button to get back to Louis' floor.

There's been a key for Louis' place on his keyring since the day Louis moved in, so Liam lets himself in the door without trouble, padding towards the kitchen. The only thing on his mind is how thirsty he is, all thoughts of Sophia chased out of his head for a few blissful moments, and he pulls up short when he realizes Louis is already there.

“All right, mate?” Liam asks, grabbing for the fridge handle.

Louis is in the middle of making tea, presumably, electric kettle sat on the counter and cupboard door open where he keeps the mugs. It's been years since he's permanently relocated to LA, but he hasn't shaken his tea addiction, even if he complains constantly that it doesn't taste right unless he's on English soil. Slowly, Louis sinks back onto the balls of his feet, and it's only then that Liam realizes he'd been up on his toes to reach his favorite mug.

Louis audibly clears his throat. “Have a good run, then?”

“Yeah, brilliant,” Liam agrees, fingers wrapping around a cold bottle of water. He lets the fridge door swing shut as he rips the cap off, chugging down half the bottle. “And, uh. Thanks for letting me sleep on your couch last night.”

Louis busies himself making tea, flicking on the kettle and digging through his collection. “I told you, mate, you can stay as long as you like.” His gaze cuts over to Liam, eyes sweeping up Liam's sweaty chest until he reaches his face. “Might want to consider getting some more clothes, though? You're gonna run out of clean things, at this rate.”

Biting back a grin, Liam says, “I think that's the most sensible thing you've ever said.”

He can practically hear Louis' eyeroll. “What can I say? Marriage has changed me.”

Liam snaps his fingers. “Oh, right, the divorce. Listen, I was looking it up on my phone last night, and I think we can get it annulled.”

“What's the difference?” Louis asks, not bothering to look up from his tea. For someone who drinks it daily, it seems to be taking an awful lot of concentration for Louis to stir in the right amount of milk.

“Divorce means we, like, end the marriage. Annulling it means it never happened at all. Legally, anyway. We were both really drunk, so I think we've got grounds for it. Just gotta like, contact an attorney and get the paperwork filled out.” He beams. “That's great, right?”

“Terrific,” Louis agrees, blowing on his steaming tea. “Knew you'd get it sorted for us.” He gives Liam a wide berth as he walks towards the kitchen door. “Feel free to help yourself to a shower, mate. You smell a bit ripe,” he calls over his shoulder.

Liam sniffs dubiously at his armpit and wrinkles his nose. Louis isn't wrong.

-

Liam's got back to back meetings all day, the boring kind about figures and numbers and things he doesn't really care about, and it's one of those days where two-o-clock rolls around before he realizes he hasn't eaten lunch.

He slips out to grab a quick sandwich from the shop down the street, and when he gets back his receptionist tells him Louis' waiting in his office.

“Thanks, Caroline,” he says, already reaching for the door.

“Oh, and by the way, congratulations,” Caroline says with a smile. “Marriage is a good look on you, Liam.”

With a guilty start, Liam looks down where the wedding band is still around his finger. “Oh, it wasn't – I mean – thanks?” he finally settles on. This entire debacle might be a great story for parties, someday, but Liam is fairly certain he doesn't want it to be gossip fodder around the office. Especially when he's still got a picture of him and Sophia sat on the corner of his desk.

With one last frayed smile, Liam disappears inside his office, shutting the door behind him.

“Can't believe you'd leave your husband waiting like this. Unless you brought me lunch,” Louis adds, eyeing Liam's sandwich bag with interest. “Then I may forgive you.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “You can have half.”

“I knew there was a reason I married you,” Louis says, already grabbing for the bag with greedy hands. He pulls out his half, unwrapping the paper to examine the toppings before taking a bite. “I mean, other than the alcohol.”

With a snort, Liam sinks into his chair. “And they say romance is dead.”

Louis just smiles at him through a mouthful of sandwich. “We've gotta iron out the details of that charity thing,” he says without swallowing. “I want it to be big, Payno.”

“Chew your food, that's disgusting,” Liam admonishes. “We've already confirmed the guest list – Harry's agreed to do an acoustic set, bless him – and Zayn's gonna donate some art--”

“That kid you signed, with the face? He does art too?”

“Yeah,” Liam confirms. “It's like, spray-paint, graffiti type stuff? Looks sick though.”

“Fine, we'll allow it. Just make sure he knows it's a children's charity thing, all right? Nothing inappropriate.”

“Wow,” Liam says. “Marriage really has changed you.”

Louis picks a bit of lettuce off his sandwich and flicks it at Liam's face. “Shut up.”

-

Every night, Liam tells himself that this is it, he's going to go back to his flat and sleep in his own, king-sized bed like an adult. He has it on good authority through his mate Niall that Sophia's cleared out, staying with her sister, so it's not like he's going to bump into her and have to pretend like everything's fine.

Come Friday evening, though, Liam finds himself at the office late, dreading the thought of going home to an empty apartment. There's been a lot of late nights, recently, for him and Louis both, but then they've always been hands on. Liam doesn't mind the long hours, when he's in the studio, watching a track come together just right. It's the rest of it he hates, the contracts and the promo, and the endless, endless paperwork.

His vision's gone fuzzy, staring unfocused at his monitor, and he jumps when Louis pops his head through the door.

“All right, Liam? C'mon, let's go grab a drink. If I have to review the concept art for Harry's new album one more time, I'm going to light something on fire.”

Liam scrubs a hand over his face. “That's certainly a rational idea. Very well thought out.”

“Fuck off, like you've never thought about torching the place.”

“Can't say that I have, no.”

“Well, that's very narrow-minded of you, Liam.”

When Liam doesn't respond, other than letting his head thump down, forehead pressed to his crossed arms on the desk, Louis steps into his office, feet scuffing against the floor. “How are you doing, for real?”

Liam shrugs one shoulder. He's not sure he could explain it any better with words. There's the sound of paper rustling, then a soft, muted thump, like maybe a pen hitting the floor, followed shortly by the drum of Louis' heels against the side of Liam's desk. Liam doesn't look up, even when Louis' hand squeezes his shoulder.

“Fuck, Liam, you're really tense. Thought working out was supposed to relax you.”

“It's, like, stress. Tension, or whatever,” Liam mumbles into his forearm. His daily runs haven't done a lot in that department.

Louis squeezes again, experimentally. “Think you've got a knot the size of a baseball, mate.”

“Should probably get a massage or something, I dunno. Been busy.”

There's a scuffling noise, and Louis' hand withdraws from Liam's shoulder. Something – Louis, most likely – bumps into the back of Liam's chair, and then both his hands come to rest on the slope of Liam's shoulders. His touch is tentative at first, gentle little prods of his fingertips, and then he suddenly digs in, working over the tightest knots.

Liam almost whimpers at the sharp burst of pain when Louis presses into a particularly big knot, breathing out slowly as it fades to a dull ache.

“Surprised you haven't cracked in two, you're wound up so tight,” Louis murmurs, voice soft enough so that Liam doesn't startle.

“Mmpf,” Liam says into his arm, head still bowed. Louis' clever fingers work their way up past Liam's collar, gently massaging the back of his neck. He gets as far as hair at Liam's nape before he retreats, and by then Liam is little more than a groaning puddle.

He's thinking about calling it a night and having a kip right here at his desk, Louis' magic fingers doing their thing, when Louis suddenly darts a hand down Liam's front, pinching at his nipple. Liam yelps, flinching badly, and Louis starts cackling, like that was his goal all along.

“C'mon, Payno. Beer!” Louis claps him on his significantly less tense shoulder and Liam climbs to his feet, flicking off the monitor.

It can wait 'til Monday.

-

One drink turns into two or three, and normally by now Liam would be making his excuses, checking his phone to make sure Sophia hasn't texted, wondering where he is. There's no one waiting for him, though, and nothing to go home to, so when Louis suggests another round, Liam doesn't tell him no.

Beneath the table, Louis nudges Liam's ankle with his toe. “We should do something special tomorrow,” he says, taking a sip of his beer.

“Hmm?” Liam mumbles, dragging his gaze up to meet Louis' eye. He'd been a little distracted, studying the patterns of wood grains in the tabletop, tracing over them with a fingertip.

Louis makes an outraged face. “Don't tell me you've forgotten already.”

That makes Liam frown. “Forgotten what?”

Clutching at his chest, Louis gasps theatrically. “Liam James Tomlinson, tomorrow--” he pauses to check his watch, “--actually, right now, is our one week anniversary. Married a week, and you've already forgotten the date. You're a rubbish husband.”

For a long moment, all Liam can do is gape. “I didn't take your last name,” is all he can manage when he finds his words again.

Louis snorts. “Well I'm certainly not taking _your_ last name.” He takes another thoughtful sip of beer. “We could hyphenate. Tomlinson-Payne, that's got a bit of a ring to it, doesn't it?”

“It'd be Payne-Tomlinson, first of all,” Liam starts, but Louis talks right over him.

“And don't think for one second you can distract me with all this name talk. You've forgotten our anniversary, Liam. I deserve an apology.” He crosses his arms over his chest, giving Liam his best serious look, but there's a tell-tale twitch to his lips.

Liam bites back his own smile. “I've never been married before. What's the protocol, on first week anniversaries?”

“You don't _forget_ them, firstly,” Louis says, and his lips are definitely pulling into a smile now. “I don't know. Diamonds? A Rolex? I like to be spoiled, Liam.”

Liam laughs, kicking at Louis beneath the table. “Hate to see what you'd expect for our actual anniversary then.”

“Mmm,” Louis hums. “Guess you'll never know.” His tone is teasing, but there's a sharp edge to it, pricking at Liam's skin.

“You're ridiculous,” Liam tells him, and drains the last of his beer.

-

Liam's up early the next morning, the cushions beneath his back familiar by this point. He's kicked off most of the blanket in his sleep, but it's warm in Louis' condo, even in a t-shirt and shorts. Liam stares up at the high white ceiling, the LA sun pouring through a wall of windows, and his chest feels so tight it hurts to breathe.

It's been just over a week since Sophia broke it off, and exactly a week since he woke up in bed next to Louis, and Liam hasn't done a thing about either. He's picked up his phone dozens of times, ready to tap out a quick text to Sophia out of habit before his brain catches up, and he drops it like it's actually scalded his skin. There's been more than one night he's laid awake until the early hours of the morning, turning his phone over and over in his hands, talking himself into and out of calling her before he finally falls asleep, fingers still curled around it.

There's been more than a few mornings where he's woken up with a pressure on his chest, like someone's planted their foot directly over his heart and pressed down with all their weight until his breath escapes in gasps. It takes an effort to pull himself together those mornings, and Liam finds himself twisting his wedding band round and round his finger until his lungs remember how to work, until each breath stops hurting.

He wonders how Sophia is doing, if this is hurting her just as much.

That line of thinking squeezes at his chest though, so Liam doesn't dwell on it for long. Louis' door is still shut tight, and it'll be hours yet before he emerges, hair a mess and eyes puffy with sleep. Liam's got time for a run, if he wants, could take a long, hot shower after without Louis banging on the door, demanding that he 'hurry the fuck up, Payno, before I come in there and drag you out myself.'

A run might clear his head, but what Liam really wants is a distraction. Grabbing his phone and his keys, Liam slips out the door, an idea turning over and over in his mind.

By the time he makes it back, arms full and swearing as he juggles everything to get the key in the lock, Louis' door is still shut. Liam tries to be as quiet as possible, searching through Louis' cupboards for nice dishware, carefully setting the table and arranging everything just right. There's a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, since Louis has probably never done the washing in his life, so Liam tackles those as well, scrubbing at the stuck on bits before loading them into the dishwasher. He flicks on the radio while he cleans, singing along under his breath, so he doesn't hear when Louis shuffles into the kitchen on bare feet.

“What's all this?” Louis asks, voice still rough with sleep, and Liam nearly drops the dish he's attacking with a sponge. He turns around, hands still wet and soapy, and offers Louis a small smile.

“I, uh. Wanted to surprise you?”

Louis steps further into the kitchen, blinking at the table that Liam's set for two, the tray of fresh sticky cinnamon rolls still steaming, a little bouquet of flowers shoved into an empty pitcher because Louis doesn't own an actual vase.

“Did you _make_ those?” Louis asks in a scratchy voice, gesturing towards the cinnamon rolls.

“Well, no,” Liam admits. “I didn't want to burn your kitchen down. They're fresh, though! I got them at that little shop around the corner.”

The kettle hisses then, and Liam sticks his hands under the stream of warm water to rinse the bubbles off. Flicking off the faucet, he reaches into the cupboard, pulling out two mugs for tea. “I'll let you make your own,” Liam says. “You'll just yell at me for mucking it up.”

“I promise you, I wouldn't,” Louis says, leaning his hip against the countertop like he needs the support. “Is all this because of the one week thing? Liam, you know I was joking, right? I didn't actually mean for you to do anything.”

“I _wanted_ to,” Liam repeats. He licks his lips, drying his hands on a dishtowel. “I know it's – it's not like a real marriage, or anything. But you've been letting me stay on your couch, and use up all your hot water, and I just, like. Wanted to do something for you?”

“Liam,” Louis starts, but can't seem to find words to continue. “Give me that mug,” he says after a moment. “You're gonna add too much sugar, muck it all up.”

Grinning, Liam slides the mug over. “Also, full confession: I forgot to call an attorney about the annulment. Monday morning, though. It's the first thing on my to-do list.”

“It's bad form to talk about annulments on your anniversary, Liam. Shut up and let me make this tea, would you?”

Liam snaps his mouth shut, shoveling spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his own tea while Louis makes increasingly horrified faces. Laughing, Liam sinks into his chair, stabbing a cinnamon roll with his fork before depositing it onto his plate. Louis ignores his own plate, fingers darting out to tear off a bite from Liam's roll, cackling when Liam pantomimes jabbing him with the fork.

“Christ,” he moans, popping the bite into his mouth. “This is so fucking good, Liam.”

“Bet it'd be even better if you ate your own,” Liam suggests, curling an arm protectively around his plate.

“Oh, no.” Louis shakes his head. “Forbidden fruit always tastes better.”

“But it's a cinnamon roll?”

Throwing his head back, Louis laughs, loud and delighted. “You sweet, simple creature,” he says, patting Liam on the cheek. The skin around his eyes is so crinkled, Liam can barely make out the blue, and for a second, his breath gets caught in his throat. It must be just a dirty trick, though, because then Louis' hand is flashing out again, stealing another bite.

“Hey!” Liam protests, even as Louis shoves the stolen bite of roll into his mouth.

“So good, Liam,” he says around his mouthful. There's a bit of icing at the corner of his mouth after he swallows, and Liam reaches out, thumb rubbing over the spot. Eyes amused, Louis sits still for once, letting Liam wipe it away.

“Have you quite finished?” he asks once Liam tears himself away.

“Have _you_ quite finished?” Liam says, nonsensically, and Louis laughs.

“Never,” he promises, and snatches the entire cinnamon roll from Liam's plate.

-

Louis drags him out to a club that night (“It's our _anniversary_ , Payno; we need to celebrate!”) but doesn't push when Liam nurses one beer the whole time. He glances at the ring that's still on Liam's finger more than once, watching the way Liam can't help tugging at it, but doesn't say anything about that, either.

Instead, he downs a shot, grimacing at the taste and Liam tries to hide his smile, picking at the label of his beer.

“Finish that,” Louis instructs, nodding towards the bottle. “I wanna dance.”

Liam looks up at that. “You wanna _what_?”

“Dance!” Louis shouts over the music. He wriggles a bit in a poor imitation of a shimmy, fisted hands shaking invisible maracas. “For better or worse, c'mon, Liam.”

“I don't think that's what it means,” Liam says, but swallows the last of his beer all the same, leaving the empty bottle behind on the table. Louis' quick to wrap his fingers around Liam's wrist, pulling him along closer to the DJ where the crowd is just a tangled mass of writhing bodies.

The music's loud, pulsing in Liam's eardrums, in his veins, in the floor beneath his soles. He can't make out the specific song, just the steady beat of the bass line, Louis' fingers warm against his wrist. Louis leads him to the edge of the crowd, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Liam is following. He's got his fringe pushed back off his forehead tonight, and his face is flushed from either the alcohol or the heat of the club. Liam catches the flash of white teeth as Louis grins.

“Dance with me, Liam!” he shouts, pulling on Liam's arm with enough force that Liam takes a stumbling step forward, catching himself with a hand on the dip of Louis' waist.

“You're drunk!” Liam shouts back, but can't help laughing as Louis grabs his other hand, lacing their fingers together so he can guide Liam into a messy, offbeat rhythm. They manage not to step on each other's toes, but only because Louis slots one of his thighs through Liam's, anchoring his hands on Liam's hips. Liam can't figure out what to do with his hands now that Louis' released them, and eventually settles for resting them on Louis' shoulders, his thumbs nearly brushing Louis' neck.

Louis isn't quite grinding on him, but the swivel of his hips is reckless enough that there's a few near misses. The tilt of his mouth says he's doing it on purpose, and when Liam actually gasps when Louis manages to make contact, Louis smothers his laugh into Liam's sweaty neck, breath huffing out in warm puffs against his skin.

“You're so easy to wind up, Payno,” he says.

“And you're a bloody tease,” Liam complains, shuffling back until there's a respectable space between them. His hands are still curled around Louis' shoulders, though, and Louis' fingers have found their way beneath the hem of Liam's shirt, brushing his bare hip. Louis bites his lip, holding Liam's gaze, and Liam realizes what's coming a split second before Louis pinches him, hard, cackling delightedly when Liam yelps.

Louis darts away, and Liam chases him the entire way to the bar, the music not quite loud enough to drown out Louis' bright laugh.

It's last call before they stumble out of the club and Liam flags down a cab, pouring Louis into it. He gives the driver Louis' address without even thinking about it, and Louis slumps against his side, warm and a little sweaty.

“That was fun, wasn't it? You had fun, didn't you, Liam?” Louis mumbles, the blue of his eyes swallowed in shadow. He tilts his face towards Liam, and Liam brushes back his fringe where it's wilted over his forehead.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I had fun.”

“Good,” Louis says, his eyes slipping shut, cheek smushed against Liam's shoulder. It's Liam that has to dig out a few wrinkled bills for the cab fare when they pull up outside Louis' building, Liam that leads Louis to the lift once they climb out of the backseat. Arm wrapped around Louis' waist, Liam coaxes him inside, depositing Louis on the bed before kneeling down to take off his shoes.

“You don't have to do that,” Louis protests, but makes no move to actually sit up. “'M supposed to be taking care of you tonight.”

Liam glances up, but Louis' eyes are closed, lips parted and arms still flung out on the mattress. “Don't think you're in a state to be taking care of anyone,” Liam tells him, flicking the inside of Louis' knee before climbing to his feet.

“Am too,” Louis mumbles, but it's not particularly convincing when he starts snoring a few seconds later.

Shaking his head, Liam backs out of the room, closing Louis' door gently behind him. Stripping off his shirt, he pads to the bathroom, turning the hot water on full blast. He shucks his trousers and pants, stepping beneath the spray in nothing but his wedding band, thoughts turning over and over in his head. Stealing a squirt of Louis' shampoo, Liam roughly rubs it through his short hair, tilting his head back beneath the showerhead to rinse it off.

He used to steal Sophia's shampoo all the time, even though it made him smell like his mum's garden. She'd laugh when he'd come to bed, pressing a kiss to his temple and running her fingers through the damp strands. “Getting in touch with your feminine side, babe?” she'd ask, and he didn't have to hear her laugh; he could see it in her eyes, the happy way they'd crinkle.

Liam turns his face into the spray, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the stream of water. He can't remember the last time he'd seen Soph's eyes crinkle like that, the last time they'd lingered in bed, his arm around her narrow shoulders, her head pillowed on his chest.

Months, maybe. Since before Liam got it into his stupid head that a proposal and a hasty wedding would fix things, would erase all the nights Liam came home late and Soph was already asleep, turned away from Liam's side of the bed; the mornings that Liam woke up to cold sheets next to him, the lingering smell of coffee the only sign that Soph had been there at all.

They'd been parallel lines once, both headed in the same direction. Liam doesn't know where they got crossed up, when their trajectories changed so fundamentally. He knows, now, that a ring wasn't enough to reset things, but it hurts all the same, that Sophia would rather end it than try something else.

Eyes stinging, Liam shuts off the water, stepping out of the shower and reaching for a towel. He rubs it over his chest and arms, scrubbing briefly at his hair before wrapping it around his waist. There's still droplets of water sliding down his back when he reaches for his toothbrush, sat next to Louis' in the little holder, and Liam cleans his teeth with vicious strokes, spitting a mouthful of foamy toothpaste into the sink.

All his clothes are in a dufflebag in the living room, courtesy of Niall, because Liam still hasn't managed to brave his empty apartment, and he'll need more soon if he's going to keep living on Louis' couch. Padding out of the bathroom, Liam bypasses the duffle, sinking down onto the couch in just his towel, face in his hands.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels the telltale wetness against his cheeks, doesn't register his hitching breath until it cuts off abruptly at the quiet, “Liam?” from Louis' dark doorway.

“I'm fine,” Liam tries to say, only what comes out is this awful sounding croak.

The floorboards creak under Louis' feet as he circles around the end of the couch, and Liam can feel the cushion sink next to him when Louis settles his weight down.

“I'm fine,” Liam repeats with determination, and although the words scrape at his raw throat, they make it out.

“You're really not,” Louis says, gently, like Liam might crack if he handles him too roughly. His warm palm finds Liam's back, rubbing slow circles against his damp skin. “I'm sorry,” Louis adds, voice still soft, “if taking you out tonight made things worse. I thought maybe a distraction would help.”

“No, it – it--” Liam means to finish the sentence, to tell Louis that it was exactly what he wanted, what he _needed_ , but instead his throat closes up with a sob and he crumples in on himself, back hunched and face buried in his hands.

“Oh, Liam,” Louis says, immediately scooting closer until he's pressed thigh to thigh with Liam, his arm curving over Liam's shoulder. He pulls at Liam gently until Liam gets the hint, turning to hide his face in Louis' neck, fingers clutching at Louis' shirt. Louis smells like stale sweat and alcohol, and his stubble scrapes at Liam's cheek, but his fingers feel nice carding through Liam's hair, and he doesn't mention the way Liam leaves his t-shirt damp with tears.

He doesn't say anything at all until Liam pulls back, wiping at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Sorry,” Liam rasps. “I didn't mean to cry all over you.”

“Sort of invited it, didn't I?” Louis says. “And anyway, it's my fault. I never should have left you alone tonight.”

Liam tries for a smile, but it's still a little watery. “Because it's our anniversary?”

“Well, yes,” Louis agrees, cupping Liam's cheek with one hand, presumably to steady his thumb as he swipes at the dampness beneath Liam's eye. “But more because it's not the anniversary you wanted, is it?”

Liam's gaze drops to his ring finger, the gold gleaming dully in the starlight.

“You wanted a real marriage, not a drunken mistake,” Louis continues, and his palm feels cool against Liam's hot cheek.

“I wanted...” Liam doesn't know what he wanted. To live happily ever after, maybe. But a ring couldn't guarantee that. “I wanted us to be happy,” he says, slowly. “I wanted to wake up next to her, and have her smile at me the way she used to.”

“It's okay to be sad,” Louis whispers. “It's okay to feel sad about missing that.”

Liam nearly starts crying again at that, but manages to take a deep, shuddery breath and pull himself together. “Thanks,” he offers in a small voice. “I think I just want to sleep now.”

Louis pats his towel-clad thigh. “Then put some pants on and come to bed.”

“What?”

Pushing to his feet, Louis offers Liam a hand. “I'm not letting you sleep alone tonight. C'mon, you can bunk with me for the night.”

“I don't...”

“Liam,” Louis puts on an exasperated tone. “This isn't up for discussion. We're married, aren't we? We can share a bloody bed if we like.”

Liam eyes the hand Louis still has out in offer, then the unforgiving couch. It's really not a difficult call. He grabs Louis' hand, and lets himself be pulled along.

-

There's a warm arm wrapped securely around his chest when Liam blinks his eyes open, immediately shutting them again against the too-bright sunlight spilling through the windows. He's exhausted down to his bones, and the skin around his eyes feels bruised and tender. The sheets under him are soft, though, and there's a snuffling noise behind him, the tickle of someone's slow breathing against the skin of his neck.

Liam takes a deep breath, and Louis' arm tightens around him, pulling him even closer. His hand is pressed to Liam's heartbeat, one of his legs threaded through Liam's beneath the sheets, and Liam can't remember the last time he woke up this tangled up in someone else.

Didn't realize how much he missed it, even when Louis tweaks at his nipple half-heartedly, not quite fully-conscious. “Stop thinking so loud,” Louis mumbles, and his lips catch against Liam's skin with every other word. “I can hear you. Go back to sleep.”

“You can't,” Liam argues, because Louis may have many talents, but mind-reading isn't one of them.

“Can too,” Louis says, voice a low rumble. “You're all stiff. Stop thinking and go back to sleep.”

Well, that's true, but probably not in the way Louis means. It's been a long time since Liam's woken up this tangled up in someone else, but his body still remembers how this usually ends.

“I uh. Gotta piss,” he tries, and realizes as soon as he says it that it's true. It's not the most urgent issue he needs to take care of right now, but probably in the top five, at least. Louis grumbles out a wordless protest when Liam extricates himself from his arms, but just rolls over to bury his face in his pillow when Liam pads out of the room.

The one real downside to sharing a flat with Louis is the absolute lack of privacy, which until this moment hadn't really bothered Liam all that much. Now, though, he finds himself in a bit of a crisis, because the more he wills his morning hard-on to go away, the bigger the problem it becomes.

It's bad form, no doubt, to wank in someone else's bathroom, especially when they're sleeping not five feet away in a room down the hall. Despite his better judgment, Liam gives in and turns on the shower to cover the worst of the noise, hissing out a sigh of relief when he slips his hand past the waistband of his boxers. He tries not to think about anything as he works his hand over himself, just concentrates on the feel of his fingers against his cock, focusing on the rhythm of it.

Tells himself it means nothing when he finally spills over his fist, thinking about the catch of lips against the skin of his neck, of blue eyes glittering in the dark.

He's barely managed to clean himself off with a bit of looroll, flushing the whole mess down the toilet, when a loud banging on the door makes him jump nearly a foot.

“Fuck, Louis, you scared the shit out of me!” Liam gasps, hand still clutching his chest when he reaches for the bathroom door, pulling it open.

Louis grins ferally at him from the other side. “Taking a shower?”

“Oh, yeah, I was just--” Liam darts a guilty look towards the shower, then down at himself, where he's still clearly dressed. Steam is starting to billow out from behind the shower curtain, the water obviously more than hot enough.

“I'll leave that to you then, shall I?” Louis half turns on his heel, and for three blissful seconds Liam thinks he's gotten away with it.

“Oh, and Liam?” Louis calls over his shoulder, glancing back to catch his eye. “Just so you're aware, the walls in this condo are _very_ thin.” He blinks innocently at Liam. “You'd be amazed at the noises that wake me up.”

Cheeks flaming, Liam slams the bathroom door. Louis' laughter rings clearly through it.

-

Liam's settling himself down on his usual cushion that night when Louis quirks a brow at him.

“You back to the couch, then?” he asks, his tone giving nothing away.

Liam shrugs one shoulder. “Thought last night was a one time offer.” He almost winces at the way the words come out. He didn't mean it, like, an _offer_ , offer.

Rolling his eyes, Louis says, “I have a king-sized bed, Liam. It's not exactly a hardship sharing with you.” He pauses delicately. “Unless you like sleeping on the couch?”

Like a shot, Liam pushes up off the couch to his feet. “Not that you don't have a lovely couch,” he tells Louis. “But, um.”

Laughing, Louis steps into the bedroom, leaving the door open for Liam to follow.

It's surprisingly easy, to fall into a rhythm of waking up next to Louis. He kicks something awful in his sleep, king-sized mattress or no, and always steals the blankets. He's a constant ball of energy when he's awake, one of the few people that can keep up with Liam, but it's the early mornings that Liam likes best, when he's woken up before his alarm and soft pre-dawn light filters weakly through the windows. Louis' still then, an immobile lump beneath the duvet. There's nothing to stop Liam from lying there, listening to the quiet sound of his breathing, a side of Louis no one else gets to glimpse.

Probably a dangerous habit to fall into, because come Tuesday morning Liam still hasn't called about the annulment. Casting a guilty glance at his cracked office door, Liam does a hurried search for divorce attorneys. It's only after he's been scrolling through reviews for a solid ten minutes that he realizes he's been twisting his wedding ring round and round his finger.

He stares at the thin band a long moment. Then he grabs his phone, dialing the first number he sees on the screen.

-

“Oi, Payno.”

Liam glances up from checking his email, and sees that Louis has popped his head through his office door. “What's up?”

“Have you ordered the flowers for the charity ball yet?” Louis steps into his office, throwing himself down in the chair across from Liam's desk.

“Of course I've ordered the flowers. I don't need you checking up on me, mate.” Hastily, Liam clicks open the website to order the flowers. Somewhere on his desk, he's got the list Louis and the event planner, Eleanor, finalized last week. Nudging at a stack of paperwork, he risks a glance up at Louis, who's watching him with amusement.

“You totally forgot, didn't you?”

“No I didn't,” he lies. “And quit distracting me, I'm trying to work.”

Louis props one heel on Liam's desk, crosses his other leg over at the ankle. “Liam. Mate. It's quarter 'til 8.”

“No it's no-- oh,” Liam says, catching sight of the clock. “Oops.” He feels guilty on instinct before he remembers there's no one waiting for him at home, and then the air from his lungs releases in a relieved sigh. A late night is just a late night now, not a disappointment.

“Oops,” Louis parrots back. There's something faintly evil in the corner of his smile, which is the last thought Liam has before he's hit in the face with a tiny, freezing stream of water.

“What the – _Louis_!” Liam nearly screeches as Louis doubles over with cackling laughter. There's a small, bright green water pistol in his hand. If it were anyone else, Liam might've questioned where they even found a water pistol in the middle of a corporate building, but it's the sort of thing that actually wouldn't be out of place in Louis' office.

With as much dignity as he can muster, Liam wipes the water from his cheek. “I hope you enjoyed yourself, mate, because you're dead now.”

One of Louis' eyebrows quirks up. “That so, Liam?”

Liam doesn't break eye contact as he reaches for bottle of water sat on his desk, and he's just brushed the plastic with his fingertips when Louis bolts, scrambling out of the chair and through the door. “You're gonna have to catch me first!” he yells over his shoulder, his voice echoing down the hall.

It's not the best idea Liam's had to give chase, but it's probably not the worst, either. The office is mostly deserted, at any rate, save for a custodian hoovering the worn hall carpet.

“Sorry, mate!” Liam hastily apologizes, jumping over the tangled cord and careening around the corner, following the sound of Louis' breathless laugh. The custodian barely looks up, but Liam couldn't say if it's because of apathy or because he's too used to Louis' late night antics.

The chase is a short one, because there's a limited amount of places Louis can run without risking getting caught in a lift, and Liam corners him in the breakroom, breathing hard.

“Did you even try?” he goads, stalking closer to where Louis is hovering near the back counter, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle in preparation to dump it all over Louis' head.

Louis snorts. “Did you really think it would be this easy?”

Liam feels a moment of confusion before Louis flips the sink on, sticking his palm beneath the tap to make the water spray everywhere. Some of it gets on Louis, but most of it hits Liam square in the chest, soaking through his top in seconds.

“We are adults,” Liam protests, flinching back a few steps. “We have 401(k)s! We cannot have a water fight _at work_.”

“Well, not with that attitude,” Louis agrees, sticking his tiny water pistol under the faucet to fill it up again. “But I think you're just saying that because I'm winning.”

Tugging at his wet top, Liam shakes his head. “You might win the battle, but you're not going to win the war.”

Louis grins, sharp and bright. “Those are fighting words, Liam. You gonna back 'em up?”

By the time they call it a draw, Liam's hair is plastered to his forehead and his shirt is completely transparent, cold and sticking uncomfortably against his chilled skin. Louis doesn't look much better, sat on the floor in his own private puddle, back against the counter and bent knees to his chest. The water pistol and Liam's water bottle are both in the middle of the room, tossed in the center of the battleground on a three count when they finally called a truce. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Liam has a distant sort of hope that the room will dry out before tomorrow morning so they don't get reamed out, but most of him is too busy trying to catch his breath. It's like there's not enough room in his chest for his lungs to expand, his heart feels so full.

“That was probably the stupidest thing we've ever done,” he says happily, shoving his dripping fringe back off his forehead.

“Second stupidest,” Louis corrects, nodding at Liam's ring finger. “Oh, unless you count that time at uni with the fire extinguisher as stupid, but I maintain that was actually brilliant.”

“You almost got us expelled over that!”

Louis shoves his pointer finger towards Liam. “But we _didn't_ get expelled, if you remember.”

Liam grins sheepishly. “I was a bit drunk, to be honest. That was the only reason I went along with it.”

“Lies and blasphemy. You went along with it 'cos you love me so much.”

There's a hitch in Liam's laugh, but it makes it out okay. “You don't have to sound so smug about it.”

Somehow, Louis just manages to look even more smug. “Oh, but I do. Do you remember how you were, when we first met? Your face would turn the most hilarious colors whenever I'd touch you, it was incredible. I thought for sure you'd have a heart attack before the semester was over.”

“And yet you kept on touching me. Thanks, Lou.”

Louis rolls his eyes, kicking out one leg to nudge Liam's foot. “Because I saw the _potential_ in you, Liam. I knew you could be corrupted, if I just kept at it. And look where we are now!” He beams at the waterlogged breakroom, like it's something to be proud of.

“Never really believed we'd actually get here,” Liam confesses, nudging Louis' foot back.

Head cocked like a curious dog, Louis asks, “What? The breakroom?”

“No, like. Actually writing and producing music, y'know? It's – obviously there are drawbacks, and the hours are, like, terrible, but mostly it's, like – it's a dream come true.” Liam huffs out a breath somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I'm just, like. It hasn't been easy, and there were so many times I wanted to give up, but I'm so proud of us, Lou. Of both of us. We made it here, y'know?”

Louis lips part in an almost reluctant smile, and he blinks slowly at Liam. “You're a fucking sap, you know that?”

“Well, you're an emotionally stunted Peter Pan wannabe.”

“Touché.” Pushing to his feet, Louis offers Liam a hand. “C'mon. You can order the flowers tomorrow. I need a hot shower and a drink.”

Grabbing hold of Louis' hand, Liam lets himself be dragged up. “What about the...” he trails off, gesturing to the wet, well. Everything.

Louis waves a hand. “Evaporation'll take care of it. Science has our back. Let's get out of here.”

“I don't think that's true,” Liam says, but follows after Louis without protest.

-

Phone nestled between his ear and shoulder, Liam frowns at the selection in front of him. “Fruity Pebbles or Cocoa Puffs?”

“What kind of question is that? Get both,” Louis orders.

“You're actually a five year old,” Liam informs him, but drops both boxes of cereal into his basket.

“If you can't respect me cereal cupboard, Liam, then get out of my house.” There's a bit of a loaded pause, and then Louis adds, a lot more cautiously. “Uh. You know I didn't actually mean that, right?”

Liam swallows. “Yeah, of course. Of course I know. I just...” he rounds the end of the cereal aisle, wandering past the baked goods. “You sure I'm not overstaying my welcome? A normal person would probably have gotten over it by now, been able to go back to their old flat.”

“Liam.” Louis sounds stern. “If you were overstaying your welcome, you would know, because I'd tell you. Not the type to sugarcoat things, am I?”

“No,” Liam politely agrees when Louis pauses for a response.

“Exactly. I don't give a fuck what normal people do. And anyway it's only been what, three weeks? You'll go home when you're ready, and you'll do my shopping in the meantime.”

Liam traces his finger over the looping script of a Betty Crocker logo. It's some sort of funfetti treat, and Liam loves funfetti, but the last time he and Louis attempted anything more challenging than a baked potato they set off the smoke alarm and had to throw it out.

“That's what this is really about, huh? Keeping me around just to do the chores you don't like.”

“Marriage is all about sacrifice, Liam. Oh, are you still in the cereal aisle? I want Cap'n Crunch, too.”

He's not, but Louis sounds so excited. “Fine, I'll get you Cap'n Crunch. But if you think you're getting out of the tux fitting, you've got another thing coming. They need your measurements. That's one chore you can't pass off on me.”

“Relax, Payno. I haven't put this much planning into the charity ball to show up with an ill-fitting suit. I'll be at the fitting, all right?” He disconnects without saying bye and Liam shakes his head, slipping his mobile into his pocket. Turning around, he heads back to the cereal aisle to pick up some Cap'n Crunch.

-

As promised, Louis shows up for the fitting, all easy smiles and effortless charm as Eleanor frowns over tie choices, searching through a truly impressive selection.

“I feel like the tie is not as crucial as, like, the food or the entertainment,” Louis says, sounding amused.

Eleanor shushes him. “You can't overlook any details. It's why you're paying me so much money to make this a success.” She bites her lip, holding up two ties just beneath Louis' chin. “I need a second opinion. Liam, thoughts? I'm leaning towards the vertical stripes. Accentuates his shoulders.”

Liam's already refused to wear anything other than a simple black tie, so he's fairly certain it's just a rhetorical question. Still, his mum raised him to be polite. “It's nice,” Liam agrees, and Louis laughs.

“There you have it, El. Getting rave reviews over here. The vertical stripes it is.”

“You're not paying me enough,” Eleanor tells him, waving the tailor over. “Can you take in a little more around the waist?” she asks, gesturing towards Louis' black jacket. “I want a really defined silhouette.”

Louis fidgets the entire time the tailor is fussing over him, and nearly gets himself poked with a pin for his troubles. “This would not be as difficult if you would hold still,” the tailor suggests politely through gritted teeth. “Why don't we take five while I grab my measuring tape? Be careful not to move too much or the pins will slip.”

He pulls Eleanor aside for a hushed conversation and Louis promptly tugs at his jacket, turning towards the mirror to examine his reflection. “What do you think, Liam? Is my silhouette looking defined?”

Liam shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

Twisting his neck to look over his shoulder, Louis quirks his eyebrow at Liam. “You all right? You've been quiet all day.”

Shaking his head, Liam says, “Don't worry about it. It's nothing.”

“It's not _nothing_ if it's got you upset, Liam. Tell me.”

“I was just thinking, like.” Liam tugs at his cuff, fiddling with the button. “I'm really excited for the charity ball, I am. You worked so hard, Lou. But, like. It would – it would be better, if I still had a date.”

Louis gapes at him for a full moment before reaching down to snatch a pin from his jacket, and it's only Liam's quick reflexes that save him from being stabbed by it.

“Hey, what was that for!”

“It would be better if I still had a date,” Louis mocks in a high-pitched voice. “Well fuck, Liam, I'm only your bloody _husband_.”

“Yeah, but you – I mean – it's not--” _real_ , he wants to say. But the entire theme of the charity ball is make-believe, so that sick little boys and girls can have a night of magic to feel like real princes and princesses, to raise money for research and care so that maybe someday, some of them won't be sick anymore.

That's all he and Louis have, really, is a pretend marriage. But just for one night, maybe Liam can let himself forget.

“Yeah,” he says. “You're right.”

“My two favorite words in the English language,” Louis quips, trying to poke the pin back into place and aiming a charming smile at the tailor, who's now walking back over with a scowl on his face. “Oops,” he says, while Eleanor just shakes her head.

“Not nearly enough,” she says just loud enough for Liam to catch, and he has to stifle a laugh in his fist.

-

They get a limo because they're high rolling producers, and Louis promises they can raid the minibar on the way back home. When they arrive outside the venue, there's a red carpet out front and everything – Louis really pulled out all the stops for this event – and as the limo rolls to a stop, Liam grabs his arm, stilling him before can climb out the door.

Louis glances back, one eyebrow raised. “Do you have something important to say, or can it wait, Liam? We've only got a charity ball to host.”

“Sometimes I think you just like the sound of your own voice,” Liam says, reaching up to smooth back a strand of Louis' hair that's come loose from his carefully styled quiff. “There,” he adds, satisfied. “Now you're fit to receive all the little princes and princesses.”

“If you've quite finished...” Louis grabs the door handle, but can't manage to stifle his grin as he steps out, Liam on his heels. The red carpet is soft underfoot, and the flowers that Liam finally remembered to order are dripping from every table, making the entire place smell like some sort of enchanted garden.

“It's like you said, Liam,” Louis explained one night when they were sat in Liam's office, a carton of takeout between them and the city lights painting long, disjointed shadows across the hardwood floor. “We got lucky, didn't we, that music wasn't just a pipe dream for us? We actually get to write and produce music, live our dream every day.”

“Speak for yourself,” Liam said around a mouthful of sweet 'n sour chicken. “I spent seven hours in back to back meetings today discussing event scheduling. My head is fucking killing me.”

“As I was _saying_ , we get to live our dream every day. Like, the least we can do is make sure kids in need get to live out their dream for one night.”

Now, Liam squeezes Louis' shoulder, grabbing a couple flutes of champagne off a passing waiter. He hands one to Louis, leaning in close to whisper in his ear, “Go on, Lou. Have a drink. You've earned it, mate. It looks _amazing_ in here.” The label hired Eleanor to help plan it, of course, but Louis approved every detail himself, working later nights than Liam in the days leading up to the event to make sure it was perfect.

Louis' fingers curl around the thin stem of the glass, but he doesn't bring it to his lips. “You're not just humoring me, right? Like, you think they all really like it?”

A gaggle of tiny princesses walk past them, glittering tiaras perched in their curled hair and sequined dresses glinting beneath the chandelier light. Each one has a matching smile, stretching from ear to ear.

“I'm not humoring you,” Liam promises, pressing a quick kiss to Louis' cheek before pulling back. “I'm going to go find our table, okay?”

“Sure,” Louis says, the stiff line of his shoulders relaxing a hair. As Liam watches, he bends down until he's eye level with a trio of little princesses, and Liam can't quite make out the softly spoken words he says, but catches the bashful smiles Louis gets in return. Smothering his own grin with his palm, Liam starts to pick his away across the room, searching out their table. He loses Louis to the crowd after that, and doesn't actually see him again until it's nearly time for dinner to be served and Louis sinks into the chair next to him, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

“Sorry, I was helping some little ones color,” he explains breathlessly. “And before that I had to check in with Eleanor – small crisis with the chicken, but it's been sorted – and I spoke to Harry, he's backstage now and they're getting the equipment set up for his set, and--”

Liam grabs hold of Louis' hand, threading their fingers together. “And now it's time for you to relax and enjoy yourself. Try the chicken, it's really good,” Liam says, unable to help his smile.

Grinning just as fiercely, Louis reaches over to steal a bite of chicken from Liam's plate, popping it into his mouth.

“You're insufferable,” Liam informs him, but the words lose their impact when he tightens his grip on Louis' hand.

“For better or for worse, Payno. Those were the terms,” Louis says sweetly, and takes a sip of Liam's ice water.

It's sort of hard to eat one handed, but Louis doesn't let go all throughout dinner, so Liam doesn't either. He's barely set his fork down before Louis is tugging on him, pulling him up out of his seat and towards the stage.

“C'mon, c'mon, hurry up,” he says, dragging Liam behind him. “We're bidding next.”

“On what?” Liam asks, letting himself be pulled along. Harry's set isn't until after dinner, and the auction is in full swing now, a lot of the label's special guests having already made sizable donations.

Leading Liam towards the makeshift stage, Louis says, “You'll see.”

They scramble up the stage, each taking their place on either side of the auctioneer. Louis bites his lip, like that'll keep the corners of his mouth from curving up, and Liam shifts his weight from foot to foot, waiting to hear his fate.

“Next up we have face painting,” the auctioneer announces, and a cheer goes up across the room. Their faces aren't as well known as Harry's, maybe, but subjecting an adult to face painting is still hilarious to the kids. “Liam and Louis here are going to bid against each other for who gets their face painted. And,” the auctioneer adds, “you have to leave the building with it on. You have to have your face still painted.” The audience roars even louder at that one.

Neither one of them has a microphone, so if they partake in a bit of trash talking while the auctioneer gets ready to start the building, none of the kids can hear, anyway.

“We'll start the bidding at five hundred dollars, okay? Five hundred, here we go.”

The numbers climb alarmingly fast, and before he knows it Liam is ducking out at five grand, while Louis just smiles serenely, like it's nothing to drop that kind of cash on face paint. At least it's for charity, Liam supposes, thinking that there's probably more than one reason for Louis' tranquil smile.

“Let's give them a hand, there we go!” the auctioneer says while Liam follows Louis off stage, shaking his head.

“Hope it's worth it, mate,” he says, still a little shell-shocked.

“Every penny,” Louis assures him as they're escorted to the face painting booth, where Liam is instructed to sit while the face-painter examines his face.

“What'll it be, then? Your imagination's the limit,” she says brightly.

Louis' laugh sounds huskier than normal, curling intimately in Liam's ear. “Make him a fairy,” he decides, one arm wrapped over Liam's shoulder. “The loveliest fairy.”

The face-painter looks amused, tipping Liam's chip up with the pads of her fingers. “This beard might get in the way, but I'll do my best,” she agrees, already reaching for a tube of paint. The first stroke of the brush is cold and tickles against his skin, and Liam lets his eyes close, partly so he doesn't end up getting poked with the bristles and mostly so he doesn't accidentally catch Louis' eye and laugh. It can't take more than ten or fifteen minutes to get his face painted, but it feels like an eternity, his leg jiggling nonstop and Louis' running commentary forcing him to bite his lip against a giggle.

His face feels stiff with paint by the time she finishes and he's afraid it will crack when he smiles, but it sticks just fine when the face-painter hands him a mirror and he examines himself, cheeks pulling up as he grins. He's orange, mostly, and stripey like some kind of fairy/tiger hybrid, but it does look kind of sick.

“Thank you,” he tells her sincerely. “I love it.”

“You're welcome,” she says warmly. “Now get out of here, I've got more happy customers to serve.” Laughing, he and Louis have to tread carefully around a gaggle of children clamoring to be painted next to make their way back to the table.

“Careful, Liam,” Louis warns him, a flute of champagne materializing in his hand out of seemingly nowhere. “No more drinks for you, or you'll smear your pretty face up.”

“Laugh it up all you like, Lou. The second we get back in that limo, I'm smearing this face off on you.”

“Ohh, naughty,” Louis teases, taking a sip of champagne. “We'll just see about that, won't we?”

They stay until all the little ones have gone, yawning princesses being lead by the hand out the door, little princes curled sleepily against their mothers' shoulders. Overhead, the light spills softly, the chandeliers turned low in favor of strings of fairy lights. Servers are clearing the last of the plates away and on stage, the crew is packing up the equipment from Harry's set. There's soft classical music being piped through the speakers and the stragglers bunch in little groups, lingering over one last drink.

Liam finds Louis sat at their table, one arm draped over the back of the chair next to him. His cheeks are flushed enough that Liam thinks he's halfway to drunk, but his eyes are still sharp when they settle on Liam's face.

“You've been good, Liam,” he says, dipping his chin. “Haven't rubbed off any paint at all.”

Shrugging, Liam lowers himself into the chair next to Louis. “You paid a lot of money for it,” he points out. “Wanted to make sure it was worth it.”

“Oh,” Louis says. “I think it was.” His smile is softer than usual, no sharp edges at all, and he lets Liam lean against his shoulder, thighs pressing together beneath the table.

Ducking his head, Louis fiddles idly with a cloth napkin, running his fingers over the edge of the fabric. “Do you think--” he starts to say, but cuts himself off before he can finish the thought.

“I think,” Liam answers anyway, “That tonight was amazing, Lou. Haven't got the final figures, yet, but the money you raised, it's-- it's a lot. Gonna make a huge difference for so many kids.” He reaches out to grab Louis' hand, squeezing his fingers. Louis will just brush him off if he says how proud he is out loud, but this, he might allow.

Louis doesn't pull away, just turns Liam's hand over so the thin band on his finger catches in the light, shining softly. “You still haven't taken this off,” he says, sounding close to fond, but there's something more in his tone Liam can't quite place.

“Well, we're still husbands,” Liam offers. At the word 'husbands' Louis' gaze darts up, the icy blue of his eyes the warmest Liam's ever seen.

“I suppose we are,” Louis agrees. Liam is, like, 95% certain Louis hasn't got a water pistol hidden in his jacket pocket, but braces himself against an attack all the same. It would be completely like Louis to pay thousands of dollars to make Liam get his face painted, just to ruin it an hour later because Liam let his guard down.

But Louis doesn't pull a water pistol out of nowhere to catch Liam full in the face with an icy spray. Instead he searches Liam's eyes, but what he's looking for, Liam couldn't say. His hand in Liam's is a little clammy, but his grip is sure.

When he finally leans in, it's slow enough that Liam could pull back, if he really wanted. Louis makes his intentions clear, eyes dipping to Liam's mouth before meeting his gaze again, his irises so, so blue.

“Can't waste a night like this,” Louis murmurs, his face close enough to Liam's that he can feel his warm breath; that he's gone a bit cross-eyed, trying to hold Louis' gaze. “Since we're husbands, and all.”

“Yeah,” Liam breathes, leaning towards Louis reflexively. Liam would be lying to himself if he said he never thought about what it would be like, kissing Louis. He'd expected a biting, cutting kiss, as sharp as all of Louis' edges, the kind of kiss that leaves a mark deep as a bruise.

But the first touch of Louis' mouth against his is gentle, almost tentative, as soft as the lights glittering overhead. His lips are slightly parted, but there's no hint of teeth before he's pulling back, eyes still closed so that his lashes spill shadows down his cheeks.

Liam can feel the way his heart is stuttering in his chest like he's just run a mile, when he hasn't even kissed Louis a full thirty seconds. Before his brain can catch up and talk him out of it, he ducks his head, chasing Louis' mouth, one hand wrapping around the back of Louis' neck to keep him from squirming away.

Louis makes a little choked sound in the back of his throat when Liam catches his mouth, kissing him hard, and it's like a dam bursts. Laying his palms flat against Liam's chest, he slides his hands up the fabric until he can tug on Liam's lapels, dragging him closer. He lets Liam lick his way into his mouth, groans when Liam's grip on his neck tightens, fingertips digging into his skin. It feels a bit like drowning, he's so wrapped up in Louis, but he doesn't want to come up for air.

“We should,” Louis eventually gasps, tearing his mouth away from Liam's long enough to get the words out. “We should take this back to the limo.” There's orange and white paint coating his lips, smeared along his jawline, and a dab of black on the side of his nose. Reaching out, Liam rubs his thumb over a streak on Louis' cheekbone, realizing his own face must look like a mess. Anyone who looks at them will know exactly what they've been up to, exactly where Liam has touched him, exactly how Liam has ruined him.

“Okay,” Liam agrees, a little breathless, climbing to his feet and following after Louis out the side door where the limo's parked. Tangled up in each other, they stumble into the night, pouring themselves in the back of the limo, slamming the door shut behind them. Louis wastes no time climbing into Liam's lap, knees braced against the seat on either side of Liam's hips, holding on tight to his shoulders.

Wrapping his hands around Louis' waist, Liam anchors him in place as the limo pulls away, chin tilted up so Louis can drag his teeth over the skin of Liam's neck, nipping at his pulse point. He soothes his tongue over the spot a second later, the wet drag of his lips catching against Liam's skin as Louis trails kisses up his neck and across his jawline.

“You taste like paint,” Louis complains, panting the words out.

“And whose fault is that?” Liam manages, fingers tightening their grip as Louis finally presses a kiss to Liam's mouth, sucking gently on his lower lip.

“When we get home, I want you to wash this off,” Louis instructs, tugging on Liam's hair so he tilts his head back further, exposing his throat to Louis' teeth. “And then,” he adds, voice a ragged whisper, “I want you to fuck me.”

He punctuates the words by grinding his hips down against Liam's, swallowing Liam's groan in another bruising kiss. It's dark, in the back of the limo, but Liam swears he sees stars. “So demanding,” he gasps.

“I can feel how hard you are, Liam. You want this too.”

With not a small amount of effort, Liam eases Louis off his lap and onto the seat next to him. Before Louis gets the wrong idea, he quickly leans in to kiss him again, cupping the back of Louis' head with one hand, fingers tangling in Louis' hair. “You're gonna make me come in my pants, if you don't quit,” he murmurs into Louis' ear. “I want to – if we're gonna do this, I want to do it proper, all right? Want you naked on a bed, not wearing a suit you can't ruin in the backseat of a rental.”

“That's very sensible of you, Liam, but what about a preliminary backseat blowjob, just to get things started? I'm very good with my mouth.” Louis actually bats his eyes, and Liam has to bite at the tendon in his neck to keep from laughing and ruining the moment.

“What do you think I am, a bloody teenager? Don't be greedy, Lou. You'll get what you need.”

Louis grins sharply. “I'd better.”

-

The ride home is the longest of Liam's life, and Louis doesn't stop his reign of terror the entire trip, switching between searing kisses that leave Liam gasping and sharp nips of his teeth that make him swear and try to shove him away. They're both flushed and a little sweaty by the time they pull up in front of Louis' building, and Liam's so hard he seriously considers fucking Louis against the wall of the lift as they stumble inside. Louis reaches down to palm at the bulge in his trousers and Liam sort of forgets how to think after that, panting into Louis' shoulder and trying not to come before he's even managed to get his clothes off.

When he thinks back on it later, Liam honestly can't remember who unlocked the door, or how they managed to stagger their way to Louis' bedroom without banging their shins against any furniture. All Liam can recall is the feel of Louis' smooth skin against his palms when he finally works free the last of his shirt buttons, shoving the material off Louis' shoulders.

They fall into bed, half undressed, Louis' nails digging into Liam's bare back and Liam sucking a mark just below Louis' collarbone.

“You're getting paint everywhere,” Louis tries to complain, but the words come out sounding hoarse and ragged.

“Don't care,” Liam tells him, nipping at his flushed skin. “Let everyone see where I've been. Let everyone know that you're mine.”

Louis' teeth flash in the moonlight. “Possessive, eh? That's kinda hot, Liam.”

He doesn't bother responding, just hitches his hips up so he can rub against Louis, groaning at the feel of it, even through their trousers and pants. “Get your kit off,” Liam pleads, fingers fumbling desperately at the button on Louis' trousers. “Please, Louis, wanna touch you.”

“Christ,” Louis breathes, squirming up the bed and batting Liam's hands away so he can undo his flies, wriggling his trousers and pants down his hips, past the bend of his knees. Liam helps him pull them off the rest of the way, flinging them over his shoulder onto the floor. He makes quick work of his own trousers, standing up to shove them down his legs, stepping out of them before he kneels on the edge of the mattress, wearing only his wedding band.

He has to pause, then, swallowing thickly. Louis is laid out on the bed, all tan, glistening skin, his hair a mess from Liam's fingers, his lips red and swollen from Liam's kisses. The fingers of one hand are curled around a bottle of lube he's managed to conjure from somewhere, the other hand around his leaking cock, and his eyes are so, so dark as he looks up at Liam.

Grabbing Louis by one ankle, Liam pins it to the bed, forcing his thighs further apart. He knee-walks up the mattress until Louis' legs are draped over his, spread wide, and looks his fill. Louis' still got paint on his face, streaks of white and orange and black on his chest that are already starting to run where sweat pricks his skin. While Liam watches, he slowly pumps his fist over his cock, breath hitching every time his palm rubs over the sensitive head.

Bracing one hand on the mattress next to Louis' face, Liam ducks his head, trying to pour everything he's feeling into the kiss. It's wet and a little desperate, and when Liam pulls back to catch his breath, Louis thrusts the lube at him, his words a broken plea of, “Fuck me, Liam, c'mon, I need you.”

Coating his fingers, Liam drops the bottle next to them, reaching back between Louis' legs. His mouth waters at the way Louis' cock jumps at the first push of a finger inside, Louis whimpering at the stretch of it. Liam takes his time working Louis open, slowly adding a second finger, then a third, until Louis' writhing on the bed, riding Liam's hand.

“Faster, harder, please, yes, right there, _harder_ , Liam,” Louis chants between bitten off groans. He actually whines when Liam slides his fingers out, looking up at him with pupils blown so wide his eyes look nearly black.

“What're you—”

Shuffling back on the bed to reach for the condom he has in his wallet, Liam pauses long enough to smack Louis' hip. “Hands and knees, Lou. Gonna give you what you need, okay?”

It takes him a second to find his discarded trousers and dig the wallet out, and by the time he looks back at the bed, Louis has managed to turn himself over, arse on display and head bowed, his breathing still a little ragged.

“Such a good boy, aren't you?” Liam murmurs, running his palm up Louis' thigh to cup his arse, squeezing a handful.

“Shut up and fuck me,” Louis grunts, not bothering to lift his head.

Tearing open the condom packet, Liam rolls it on with only slightly shaking fingers, the mattress dipping beneath his knees as he lines himself up, holding Louis' hips in place with a steady grip. Louis swears at the first press of Liam's cock, body going rigid before he relaxes into it. Liam gradually works himself in with slow, careful thrusts that make Louis gasp and curse and beg him to go faster, until his hips are finally flush against Louis' arse and his fingernails have left little pink half-moons in Louis' skin.

“I'm not going to break, Liam, c'mon and _fuck me_ ,” Louis grits out, pressing back against Liam.

“Are you ever satisfied?” Liam pants, but he does as he's told, pulling out almost all the way before slamming his hips back in hard enough that Louis gasps his name like a prayer. He doesn't shut up as Liam keeps up the relentless pace, though half his words turn into a groan before he can finish them. When Liam reaches one hand around to wrap his fingers around Louis' cock, Louis falls to his elbows, his thighs shaking with the effort of keeping himself up, the sheets muffling his moans.

Liam doesn't stop fucking him, even as he grabs Louis by the back of the neck, keeping him pinned to the bed, the ring on his finger glinting dully in the moonlight against Louis' skin. Louis turns his face to the side, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a wordless gasp. He comes first, spilling over Liam's fist and his own stomach, and the only sound he makes is a tiny almost-whimper that catches at the back of his throat. Liam chases him over the edge a moment later, hips stuttering before he collapses on top of Louis, both of them sticky with paint and sweat.

As soon as he can feel his fingers and toes again, Liam rolls off Louis, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. There's barely a few inches between him, but Louis immediately reaches for his hand, twining their fingers together. He brings Liam's knuckles to his lips to press a lingering kiss, and it's only then that Liam realizes Louis' got hold of his left hand.

“That was… fuck,” Liam says after a long moment, when their ragged breathing has calmed to something less frantic. There's this tightness in his chest, like his heart's too big to fit anymore, pushing through the gaps between his ribs.

“I know,” Louis croaks, his voice wrecked. “I'm gonna have to throw these sheets out. You got paint everywhere.”

Liam manages a smile, finding the familiar blue of Louis' eyes in the dark. “Hope it was worth it.”

In answer, Louis just squeezes his fingers. Liam means to untangle himself, to stumble down the hall for a shower, but he only finds enough energy to press one last kiss to Louis' sweat damp temple before his eyes fall shut.

-

Come morning, marking Louis up with face paint seems less hot and more, well. Completely disgusting. Liam has to peel himself off the sheets and unravel himself from Louis, who's snoring with an open mouth, and looks just as much a disaster as Liam. All the same, Liam can't help smacking a swift kiss to his cheek, biting his lip against a smile when Louis snuffles in his sleep and buries his face in the pillow.

Shuffling as quietly as he can out of the room, Liam pours himself straight into the shower, scrubbing at his skin until it's pink and a little tender. A glance in the fogged up mirror when he steps out reveals he's missed a spot or two on his face, still a bit orange around the eyes and along the scruff on his jaw. After carefully removing his wedding band to save it from paint splotches, he spends another five minutes washing his face. It takes a lot of dedication to work all the paint out of his beard, short as it is, and his face feels a bit raw by the time he's finished.

Louis still hasn't emerged from beneath the duvet and Liam considers walking to the store around the corner to pick up more cinnamon buns, but he doesn't want Louis to wake up while he's gone. Instead he busies himself putting on the kettle for tea, hoping the smell will coax Louis out of bed.

Sure enough, he stumbles through the kitchen doorway not ten minutes later, hair going in five different directions and faded paint streaking his pillow-creased cheek and his bare chest. Liam can't help the way his eyes dip down to the vee of Louis' hipbones, just visible above the waistband of his joggers.

“Did you make tea?” Louis asks hopefully, voice little more than a croak, and Liam nods.

“Gimme,” he demands, snatching the offered mug from Liam's hand. He takes a sip and actually groans. “I'm taking this with me and I'm going to go take a long, hot shower,” he announces, sounding noticeably more chipper. “And when I come back, I want more of this.”

Liam refills the kettle as the sound of drumming water from the shower filters through the apartment. He has half a mind to follow Louis into the bathroom, maybe sink to his knees and see how long it takes him to make Louis gasp his name. But this – thing, between them, is still new and almost fragile. The rules have changed since last night, and Liam wants to know where they stand before he breaks them.

He has another cup of tea ready to go when Louis slouches back into the kitchen, hair still damp from the shower and face looking a little pink, as if he had to spend some time scrubbing at his cheeks to wash away Liam's work. Hiding his smile, Liam takes a drink of his own tea, loaded with enough sugar to rot his teeth, as Louis plops himself into a chair, curling around his steaming mug.

The quiet between them is easy, settling like an old blanket, familiar and secure. Liam likes every side of Louis, but especially this one, because it's so rare to see him quiet and content, rumpled with sleep even after a shower and a cup of tea.

Absentmindedly, Louis paws at the pile of mail on the table that's been growing steadily all week as he sips his tea. He makes no move to actually open any of the envelopes, but his eyes narrow at one in particular.

“Hey, Liam. This one's addressed to you.”

Sure enough, when Louis slides the envelope across the table towards him, Liam's name is on it, even though it's got Louis' address. Perplexed, Liam tears it open, pulling out a slim stack of papers. The top one is addressed to a Mr. Liam Payne, and Liam can feel his eyes growing wider and wider the more he reads.

“What the hell, Liam. You look like you're about to shit yourself.” Sticking his spoon into his tea, Louis stirs it with loud clacking noises, even though the milk is definitely already mixed in.

“It's – it's a notice for our court date,” Liam says with a suddenly dry mouth.

“Our court date?” Louis repeats, still fussing with his tea. “For what? We haven't done anything illegal, I don't think. Not recently, anyway,” he adds as an afterthought.

“No, no, for the--” He has to stop and clear his throat. His hands are shaking, a bit, the edge of the paper fluttering in his grip. “For our annulment, Lou.”

Louis looks up at that, a guarded expression on his face. “You're not-- fuck, you're _serious_.”

Liam feels an irrational surge of anger. “Of course I'm serious. You told me– you _asked_ , remember? 'Take care of the divorce Liam, get us all sorted out.' So I did. Exactly like you told me to.” He doesn't know why this feels like a fight. They both knew that the annulment was coming. It's not exactly a surprise, even if Liam completely forgot about it.

Slowly, with careful, measured movements, Louis removes the spoon from his tea, setting it onto the table. “Okay, but the stakes have changed a little now, don't you think? That was before you, y'know, pinned me down and fucked me into the mattress.”

Cheeks hot, Liam snaps, “Well I didn't exactly know that was going to happen, did I? I can't predict the future, Louis, Christ.” Taking a deep breath, he shoves his hair back off his forehead, fingers tangling in the damp curls. “Fuck, I'm sorry, okay? I don't know why I'm so – this past month has been a lot. I don't think I'm handling it the best.”

Louis snorts. “Probably not, no. I'd say neither of us has been responsible lately, to be fair.” Catching Liam's eyes, he says, “Listen, let's just start this morning over, okay? Bin the stupid papers and let's get back in bed.” He raises his brows at Liam, mouth curved in his most charming smile.

“We need to change the sheets first,” Liam reminds him. You couldn't pay him to climb back on that dirty bedding. “And I can't bin the papers, we need them for court.”

It's remarkable how fast Louis' face falls. “I'm not following.”

“For the court date. We need the papers to file with the judge so we can get the annulment processed. I can't just bin them, Lou.” He doesn't know why Louis needs this spelled out for him, or why he's looking at Liam like he doesn't even know him.

“You want to go through with the annulment?”

Liam frowns. “Well, yeah. It's not a real marriage, is it? Never was.” They were just pretending, at being husbands. After last night, though, Liam thinks they might've found something better. Something they can build an actual relationship on. Something _real_. The annulment is awkward timing, to be sure, but it'll be an even better story at parties, someday. Probably. Hopefully.

But Louis' face just closes off more, his expression twisting to something hard and nearly unrecognizable. “I see,” he says in a voice so tight and brittle Liam's surprised the words don't shatter the second they escape.

He switches gears faster than Liam can keep up, leaves him stumbling on shaky ground when he adds, “Listen, all this has been fun, don't get me wrong, but I think we got carried away, let things go a little too far, yeah? It's probably about time you go back to your own flat. Put this whole charade to bed.” His mouth tightens like he immediately regrets the word choice, but through what looks like sheer force of will, he pulls the edges up into something that resembles a smile, if someone had never actually seen a real smile in their life.

“I...” Liam can't find his footing, doesn't know how this conversation went downhill so fast. He'd thought Louis had meant it, last night, whatever last night really was, but then this wouldn't be the first time Liam had failed to read the signs right there in front of his face.

Louis doesn't throw him a lifeline, doesn't even wait for Liam to get his thoughts in order. “I gotta run to the store, pick up some milk.” Liam's eyes slide to the nearly full gallon sat on the countertop that he'd poured into Louis' tea just a few minutes ago. “Make sure you lock the door behind you when you leave, okay?” He's gone, then, retreating through the doorway without looking back.

“Okay,” Liam whispers to the empty room. The sound of the front door slamming shut echoes across the flat a second later.

-

Liam hadn't thought he'd brought all that many belongings to Louis', but it takes a surprising amount of time to track them all down, stuffing his dufflebag so full the zipper strains when he finally gets it shut.

He finds his wedding band still sitting next to the bathroom sink where he'd left it, and shoves it into his pocket before he does something stupid like slip it back onto his finger.

Louis still hasn't come back by the time he leaves, but then, Liam hadn't really expected him to.

-

The door of Liam's apartment is exactly the way he remembered, the same worn mat with _Welcome_ spelled out in fancy script sat just outside the threshold, the same scuff marks on the lock from the times he came home too drunk to get the key in on the first try. It swings open on silent hinges and the air is a bit stuffy inside, a visceral reminder that no one's been here in a month. The furniture is still where he and Soph left it – they'll have to figure out, someday soon, how to divide it all up, he supposes – and it's only when he stops to look closer that he notices the little things that have changed: the gap on the shelf where the framed picture of Sophia and her sister used to sit, the extra hangers in the hall closet that look barren without any coats to hold, the empty dishrack that usually holds Soph's favorite mug.

The sadness doesn't hit him with the force of a wave, knocking him from his feet. It's more like he's gradually waded out past the breakers until the freezing water laps at his chin, numbing him to the bone. He's tired, suddenly, sinking onto the couch that feels nothing like Louis', dropping his dufflebag at his feet.

He should open a window, take a look inside the fridge and clear out the old food, wash the sheets so they don't smell like anything but laundry detergent.

Instead, he curls onto his side, head pillowed on his arm, and closes his eyes.

-

Liam has to drag himself off the couch come Monday morning, feeling groggy and disoriented. His own shower feels unfamiliar, he's been gone so long, and when he tries to squeeze out a bit of shampoo into his cupped palm, the bottle gives him nothing but puffs of air.

Throwing it to the ground, Liam sticks his face directly under the shower head, letting the hot water scald his skin. There's no one's shampoo to steal, no one to help Liam pick up the pieces of his life and fit them back together.

He doesn't cry, but only because he's got nothing left in him.

-

Caroline doesn't say a word about the bags under his eyes or newly exposed skin on his ring finger when he trudges past her desk into his office, but he finds a cellophane wrapped brownie sat dead center on his desk when he comes back from a late morning meeting, and spends about five minutes blinking at nothing until his eyes clear.

By lunch, he gets word that Louis' out sick for the day. By two, a headache starts to bloom in his temple. By five, it's blossomed into a throbbing migraine and he calls it a day, flicking off his monitor and locking his office behind him.

It's not until he reaches the street outside the building that he remembers the only thing waiting for him at home is an empty apartment, the rooms too big without someone else to fill them. It's weird, thinking of his and Sophia's place as home again. He doesn't remember when he'd started to think of Louis' condo that way instead, and it leaves a lump in his throat too big to swallow down.

He finds himself attempting to twist his wedding band round and round, only his fingers meet bare skin instead of metal. There's not even a tanline; the skin completely unblemished.

It's like the whole thing has already been erased.

-

There's still no sign of Louis come Tuesday, but Liam doesn't figure out why until one of the junior producers makes an offhand comment in the breakroom about last minute flight changes.

“Kinda surprised to see that you didn't go with, too, Payne. You and Tomlinson are usually attached at the hip, aren't you?”

“Oh, well. Booking one flight last minute was enough of a hassle, two would've been a nightmare. I mean, uh. Sorry, gotta get back to work. See you?” Giving his best impression of a smile, Liam makes a retreat for his office.

There'd been a trip to New York scheduled for this week, some gallery opening tied to the label, but neither one of them had wanted to go so quickly on the heels of the charity ball. Looks like Louis had had a change of heart, in the end.

Liam works late that night, until the custodian sticks his head through the door, asking about changing the lining of Liam's bin.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing a hand over face and pushing to his feet. His shoulders ache and he tries to roll his neck to release some of the tension, but it's a lost cause. Grimacing, he leaves the custodian to it, heading towards the lift.

-

Louis' flight gets in the day before their court date, not that Liam checked the itinerary, but he doesn't actually see him until that morning.

The municipal building that houses family court is crowded and faintly intimidating, with tired security guards waving him through a metal detector and long, endless corridors that seem to lead everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

Liam only figures out he's found the right room when he spots Louis, slumped on a bench with his forehead resting on one hand, the other scrolling through his mobile. He looks a little rumpled, his shirt wrinkled like he came straight from the airport and his usually carefully styled hair wilting over his eyes. At the sound of Liam's echoing footsteps he glances up, sucking in a sharp breath.

“All right, Liam?” he says neutrally, his eyes not quite meeting Liam's.

“Never better,” Liam says, and immediately winces. “That's a lie, actually. Things've been shit, if I'm being honest.”

“Honesty always was one of your worst qualities,” Louis mumbles in a half-hearted joke. His gaze drops back to his mobile then, but he doesn't get up or scoot away when Liam seats himself on the other end of the bench, so Liam counts it as a win. There's still a few feet of space between them, but it may as well be a canyon. Liam can't figure out how to bridge the gap, how to make things right between them.

What he's come to realize, over the past month, is that he can learn to live without Sophia. The sharp pain of her leaving has dulled into a manageable ache, and someday he thinks it won't hurt at all, save for the occasional tug of nostalgia when he smells her favorite perfume, or catches a glimpse of sea-glass green like her eyes.

Not having Louis, though, is like someone's ripped a vital organ out of his chest. They've been best friends for so long that Liam doesn't know how to function without him, doesn't know how to even begin filling the hole in his chest that Louis has carved for himself, tucked safely behind Liam's ribcage.

He could probably write some truly inspired lyrics about it, pass the song along to Zayn. But then he might have to hear it on the radio and have to explain why he's tearing up in the backseat of a cab, or in a crowded coffee shop.

“Louis,” he says, but he doesn't know yet, how he's going to follow that up, and the intercom buzzes to life before he can figure it out. “Case No. 432: Tomlinson/Payne.”

“Told you it's got a better ring than Payne-Tomlinson,” Louis says, then clamps his mouth shut, shaking his head. He pushes off the bench without looking at Liam, stalking into the court room. Dragging his feet, Liam follows after.

There's a judge and a bailiff and everything, but it's a lot less _Judge Judy_ than Liam had imagined. The court clerk calls their case number and appearances, and it's pretty straightforward from there.

“All right,” the judge says, reading through the documents their attorney already submitted. “You're requesting an annulment due to intoxication.” She glances up at Liam over the rim of her glasses. “Can you explain to me the circumstances of your marriage to Mr. Tomlinson that would warrant an annulment based on this reason?”

Swallowing thickly, Liam says, “I, well, you see, Your Honor – my fiancé broke off our engagement, the night before our wedding. Louis – Mr. Tomlinson – was my best man, and he, um. We went out drinking that night, to the point where I honestly don't remember most of it, including--” he ignores the way his cheeks heat in a blush, soldiering on - “including marrying Louis. Mr. Tomlinson. He was, uh, also incapacitated due to alcohol, and it wasn't until we woke up the next day that we realized what had happened.”

The judge nods, like she hears this kind of thing all the time. “Mr. Tomlinson? What is your account?”

Louis doesn't look at him. “Exactly what he said, Your Honor. I don't remember the wedding at all.” His knuckles are white, he's gripping the podium in front of him so hard, and he still won't look at Liam.

“Okay, both of your accounts match. I have here some documentation submitted by your attorney, Mr. Payne. Records of your wedding planning to a Ms. Sophia Smith, as well as the marriage certificate and photograph from your wedding to Mr. Tomlinson. Given the testimonies today and the corroborating evidence, I find that there are legal grounds to annul the marriage between Mr. Payne and Mr. Tomlinson. The wedding was performed when both parties were under the influence of alcohol, and the marriage is therefore invalid. Thank you, gentlemen. Court is adjourned.”

On shaky legs, Liam stumbles out of the courtroom. Louis is already a few steps ahead of him, clearly in a hurry to clear out, and Liam can't watch him walk away again.

Taking a fortifying breath, Liam chases after him. His mind is racing a mile a minute, a tangle of half-formed ideas and spiraling emotions that all lead to a singular thought: he can't let Louis go. Not until he's laid all his cards on the table, not until Louis knows the stakes. Not until Liam's laid himself completely bare, because if that's the cost to get Louis back, it's a price that Liam's more than willing to pay. He just hopes it's enough.

Liam reaches out, grabbing Louis' arm. “Louis, wait. Wait.”

He can hear the heave of Louis' lungs as he takes a deep breath and lets it out. “What, Liam.”

“Can you look at me, Lou? I just. I need to tell you something, and I need you to listen to all of it, okay, before you say anything back.”

The hunched line of Louis' shoulders sags in defeat. “Liam,” he says in a tortured voice, slowly turning around. “I can't-- _Liam_. What are you _doing_?”

The tile floor is uncomfortable on Liam's knee, but this is important. He wants to do it right. Chin tipped up to meet Louis' eye, Liam clasps Louis' hand in both of his. “Please listen, okay? I want you to know that marrying you is the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

Louis' mouth opens like he's got a comment about that, but Liam squeezes his hand. “Let me finish, and then you can say whatever you like, I promise.”

He waits until Louis presses his lips together again before he continues. “Marrying you was the best thing that's happened to me, because I realized something, Louis. I can live without a lot of things, okay. There's a lot I can give up, and still make it through. But not you. I can't do it without you."

Liam can see the way Louis' throat works as he swallows, his eyes briefly slipping shut before he wrenches them open again, but Liam isn't done. 

"And I realized something else," he continues, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. “I could be all right, if I got to call you a friend. I could live with that, 'cause I'd still have you. But, and I'm being honest, here, I want so much more than that. I want to wake up next to you every day, even though you steal the covers, and I want you to make fun of how I make my tea in the morning, and I want – I want to grow old with you, Louis. I want to adopt a dog with you, or maybe a baby, I don't know, I just – I want it all. I want you, Louis, anyway you'll have me.”

It's not until he's finished his impromptu speech that he realizes a small crowd has gathered, made up of the interesting collection of people that have congregated outside of divorce court. Liam's knee is starting to hurt from being pressed against the hard tile, and Louis is gaping at him, shock written in every line of his face.

“So, uh. If you wanted to say your piece, now would be the time,” Liam prompts, wincing as he tries to shift the pressure off his knee.

“You fucking idiot, get up here,” Louis demands, pulling Liam to his feet. “What the fuck kind of speech was that?”

Liam pouts. “A heartfelt one.”

Louis gapes at him some more. “Liam. We literally just had our marriage annulled! You didn't think to give me that speech _before_ we walked into the courtroom?”

“I _told_ you,” Liam says. “That marriage wasn't real. We were drunk, Louis! When we actually get married, I want my family there. I want my mum crying 'cause she's so happy for us, and one of your little sisters as flower girl, and I want to _remember_ it, okay? You're worth so much more to me than some drunken accident.”

For a long moment, Louis just stares at him, an expression of wonder slowly unfurling over his face. “ _When_ we get married?” he finally says, something mischievous glittering in his eyes.

“If?” Liam tries. “I don't want to come on too strong here, but, uh. I think you're kinda it for me, Lou. Probably should have realized that sometime over the past few years, but the past month really cemented it.”

Louis' grin is dangerous. “All right,” he agrees, wrapping his arms around Liam's neck. “But since I know a proposal is coming down the line, you're gonna have to work extra hard to surprise me. I wanna be knocked out of my socks, Liam.”

“You don't even wear socks,” Liam protests.

“Then you've really got a challenge, haven't you?” He doesn't give Liam a chance to respond, just pulls him into a kiss, right there in the middle of the hallway.

It tastes a lot like forever.  
  


 

_A few years later..._

The reception is starting to wind down, more than a few red-faced wedding guests already calling it a night. Liam's mum has gone through an entire box of tissue and last Liam saw, she was out on the dance floor with his dad, spinning slowly to a song that hasn't topped the charts in 20 years.

Louis will probably drag him out again before long, but Liam's got a few moments to himself while Louis sees off his youngest siblings, the smallest set of twins yawning widely at the late hour. He's got just enough time for a quick smoke before anyone misses him, and he slips quietly out the door.

He'd been hoping to have the garden to himself, but when he realizes who's already out here, he's suddenly glad he doesn't.

“Hey, Soph. How've you been?”

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Sophia turns towards him, looking radiant in the starlight. “I've been well, Liam. I'd ask you the same question, but I think the answer is pretty obvious.”

Liam's cheeks hurt from smiling so much, so he considers that a fair point. “Yeah," he agrees, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm - things are good. Really good. And I'm so happy you came, really, Soph."

"Of course." Sophia bites at her bottom lip, but manages not to smear her red lipstick. "This was the wedding you deserved, Liam. Thanks for letting me be a part of it."

"I wasn't sure, if I should invite you,” he admits. “I want us to be friends, but I didn't want to put you in an awkward position, or anything.”

Sophia's smile is soft. “No, I'm glad. It's-” she laughs, ducking her face. “Well, I won't pretend it's not a little awkward, seeing your mum and all that. But I am glad that you invited me. It's good to see you so happy, Liam.”

It's Liam's turn to duck his face, taking a sip of champagne to hide his blush. Still smiling, Sophia glances up at him through her lashes. "I should probably get going. Wanted to say hi to you before I left, but I'm sure you've got lots of other guests to attend to."

She leans in to press a swift kiss to his cheek, and Liam feels nothing but a faint tug of nostalgia. He watches as she half turns, taking a step towards the door.

"Wait," he calls, and she stops, turning back to face him. “There's something that - I just wanted to clear the air about. Do you remember, outside the restaurant, when--” he cuts himself off with a small laugh. “Sorry, this is awkward, isn't it? But I wanted to say, you said that you wondered, if there was someone else. I just wanted you to know, that this wasn't – me and Louis weren't--”

Sophia wraps her fingers around Liam's forearm, squeezing gently. “I know, love. You never would have done that to me, no matter how you felt about him. I'm just happy you got to find out that he felt the same.”

“I – thanks,” Liam falters, knocking back another mouthful of champagne.

“Oi,” a new voice cuts in, and Liam turns to see Louis standing in the doorway, his black bowtie hanging loose around his neck, the buttons of his snowy white shirt undone far enough that a bit of his chest hair pokes out. “That's my husband you're chatting up.”

Sophia looks amused, taking a step back from Liam and holding both her hands up, palms towards Louis. “He's all yours, promise.”

Walking to Liam's side, Louis wraps a possessive arm around his waist, fingers digging in to the skin just above his hips. It's a little dramatic, but Liam finds himself leaning into Louis' touch all the same. “Yours,” Liam agrees, sliding his own arm over Louis' shoulders.

Louis pushes up on his toes to press a kiss to the corner of Liam's mouth, his left hand cupping Liam's cheek. There's a ring on his finger that matches the one on Liam's, and he still hasn't grown used to the thrill of seeing them both shine.

“And I'm yours,” Louis says seriously, turning Liam's face until he can kiss him properly. “All yours.”

Liam gets a little lost in the kiss, in the heat of Louis' mouth, in the scent of his cologne. It's not until he pulls back, forehead resting against Louis', that he realizes Sophia's slipped away, leaving them alone in the garden. It's all right, though. Louis' arms are wrapped tightly around him, and Liam's never felt more at home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, feedback and comments are enormously appreciated. you can also come say hi on [tumblr](http://moondoggiestyle.tumblr.com/)!


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